#Boss Traffic Pricing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

norrizzandpia · 5 months ago

Note

I absolutely love your writing, I am obsessedd! Could you do a story where yn is in a car crash (or something along those lines), and then a scared Lando? And I would love you even more if yn doesn't immediately wake up or immediately is ok

Kissess

Is it mentally ill for me to love this trope?

What Died Didn’t Stay Dead (LN4)

Summary: Y/n’s close to fatal car crash and the epiphanies that followed.

Warnings: detailed depictions of a car crash, mentions of death, lots of angst, happy ending

Note: GUESS WHO’S BACK AND READY TO WRITE OVER THE SUMMER

There was a distant memory of Lando going ninety in a forty-five as Y/n drove his McLaren to work. Her hands on the wheel and mind elsewhere, she giggled to herself when the image of him pouting at a ticket and its astronomical price sat in the forefront of her mind.

“Could you, for one second, respond to what I’m saying?” The voice of her boss rang through the car’s speakers.

Y/n rolled her eyes. She hated this woman. “I am responding to you. I just have nothing more to say.”

The woman coughed on the other side of the phone, phlegm prominent in the sound, “What you need to generally understand here is that we, as a company and a branch, cannot have you dating someone with such a high profile. Especially when he continually goes against vehicle regulations and laws. We are a law firm, Y/n. One that helps clients who have been involved in car accidents. Lando Norris, Formula One Driver and known speeder, dating someone who handles cases such as ours.”

Y/n nodded to herself, “I get that, Ann. But, I don’t know what you want me to do? You can’t fire me due to my personal relationships and you can’t demand me to separate from him. This is an empty issue, which you have brought to my attention without a concise and cohesive solution. When you can figure out a way for me to continue to date my partner and keep my job as it is without this supposed issue, come to me. But, for right now, it sounds as though this is empty complaining.”

Ann scoffed, “Between me and you, Y/n, it would be in your best interest to part ways with Lando Norris.”

Speechless and shocked, Y/n’s eyes averted to the screen with Ann’s name and number presented. She couldn’t believe the suggestion, much less the blatant disregard for professionalism. With the massive distraction, she failed to see the aggressive driver approaching her right in the rear view mirror.

A sentence she began to speak fell short when the car attempted to move into her lane, one that had no more space to accommodate his large truck. He hit her front bumper with such force she spun out into oncoming traffic. With the rush hour and the lack of free area to miss an out of control car, the McLaren was smashed to pieces after being hit at every angle and every speed.

The shredded mound of parts smacked the shoulder of the road, ending its violent rampage. Ann stayed quiet on the other side of the call, having heard Y/n’s screams and the dwindling of them as crunching metal continued on.

“Y/n?” She whispered into the speaker, but there was no answer.

—

“Oscar! That’s not the way you do it!” Lando screeched, looking at the phone screen and the comments popping up in outrage over the way Oscar was trying to mold his car.

The Australian just scrunched his nose at Lando, “I do things the way I want to!”

Raging laughter from Lando met the ears of everyone watching the stream just as Oscar’s clay car fell apart moments after he uttered his rebuttal.

His pale hands came up in defense, “How was I supposed to know?!”

Lando just continued laughing, “‘I do things the way I want to!’ Dumbass.”

Oscar scoffed and the words formed on his lips just as the door burst open. Adam stood at the threshold, eyes red and phone clutched to his ear as he stared at his son.

“Lando.” He said, his voice breaking.

Maybe it was the tone or the fact the syllables couldn’t quite leave his mouth because of the sobs emitting from him. Lando thought it had to have been the look on his father’s face, the pain etched into his eyes and his soul, that told me what he needed to know.

HIs face dropped, remnants of laughter completely destroyed by the suggestion of Adam’s sorrow. Lando grabbed the jacket off the back of his chair and in a haze, he muttered, “Is she dead?”

Part of him wished Adam would’ve given him a definite answer. Part of him thought the answer yes would’ve been better than the I don’t know he was given.

I don’t know meant Y/n was almost there. I don’t know meant Y/n was fighting for her life and what everyone knew her to be. He hated the idea she was fighting for the existence of her memory and the achievements he knew she was bound to make in the future.

When they left the room, running to the car outside and waiting for them, Lando hated the idea that Y/n was fighting for the future they had always wished to share together. Marriage, kids, settling down, and going gray with her was almost completely out of his reach and that dread prompted the vomit that spewed from his mouth into his backpack as they rode to the hospital.

—

Lando’s phone blew up so much, he had to shut it off, so the silence he was forced to endure in the chair of the hospital’s waiting room was brought about unwillingly.

At that point, his nails had been bitten so far down, he was bleeding. Blood only spurred the picture of Y/n dosed in it as she was lifted from his wrecked car.

The insurance company and McLaren had both agreed it was very clearly not Y/n’s fault and they would cover the cost of his beloved, customized McLaren.

Beloved.

He thought it had been funny when one of the McLaren engineers had said that to him, promising his “beloved” car back to its original state. Funny because “beloved” didn’t describe how he felt about that car. He loved that car. It was everything to him. He remembered getting the car, feeling as though his life had changed completely for the better with the presence of this beauty in his life. He cherished it, he took care of it, that car would always hold a piece of his heart.

Then he realized that the sentimental thoughts he was having surrounding the car was just an allegory for Y/n.

He loved Y/n. She was everything to him. He remembered meeting her, feeling as though his life had changed completely for the better with the presence of her beauty in his life. He cherished her, he took care of her, she would always hold a piece of his heart.

Losing her was not an option. It never would be.

Please, to anyone out there, do not take her from me, he pleaded out to the emptiness of the universe. An empty universe that was trying to take his happiness from him. A cruel universe that was trying to strip the world of her impact.

Please was the only word on his mind when the doctor appeared from behind the swinging doors that led to the operation rooms. A tired look on his face was warranted for the hours of work he had just put into trying to save Y/n’s life.

He stopped in front of Adam and Lando, his tall frame making them stand up. On wobbling legs, Lando began to cry.

”Please tell me she’s going to be okay. You have no idea who she is, what she has done. Please, Y/n has gone and could continue to go so far. This cannot be it for her. She has so much left to do. Please, tell me-”

“Lando,” The doctor interrupted, his hand on his shoulder as a comfort, “Her injuries were extensive, but she pulled through. The recovery will be long and painful, but there’s no permanent damage. She’s incredibly lucky and one of the strongest people I have ever helped.”

A loud sigh of relief left Lando’s mouth, his body slinking down into the chair behind him. He held his head in his hands, his fingers clasped together as he said a silent prayer to a God he thought he didn’t believe in.

Thank you, he gave over and over in his mind.

—

“Do you think I could see her now?” Lando caught up with the doctor’s steps as he seemed to be rushing to another room.

The man stopped, turned to Lando, and then cocked his head. He stared at him for a moment with the wheels turning in his head.

A curt nod and smile had Lando rushing off to the room number he had made the nurse repeat back to him so many times just so he could memorize it for when the time was right.

Now was his time.

Pulling open the door, he stopped himself. He prepared himself for the battered and bruised Y/n he was bound to see. Lando’s mind flooded with vivid videos of her laughing, sleeping on his chest, looking at him like he had single-handedly given her the world and more. He wanted to remind himself of that Y/n, not the one he was about to see. She would always be the same to him and he knew she would come back to him, but, for the time being, he knew he would have to rely on the memories of her where she was truly electrictrified with life.

He finally stepped through and the sight of her in whatever comatose state they had put her in made his teary eyes leak.

His body fell into the chair by her bed, his hand coming to clutch hers. Her skin was cold when he brought it to his cheek, but the red tint to her cheeks was still there.

Her lungs falling up and down grabbed his attention, “Baby,” He breathed, “I love you.”

Silence responded and he continued, “When you wake up, I promise you I will not continue to make the cowardly decision of chickening out of asking you to marry me. I know you know I have the ring. That night when I came home to you elbow deep in my sock drawer was a dead giveaway. I know you know it’s taking me so long to gain the courage and I thank you for being patient, but I cannot go another waking moment with the idea floating around in my head that there is a possibility you will never share my last name. I need you to be a Norris if it is the last thing I do.”

Her body stayed in its place and her hand stayed still in his clutch, but he knew she was in there. She needed her rest, just as the nurses had explained to him and he agreed. The bruises on her face, the casts surrounding her body, he didn’t want her to wake up to this.

—

And she wouldn’t have to. When she woke up weeks later, the bruises had healed, the cuts had become skin once more, and the casts had dwindled down to one. Lando was there too when her eyes squinted open and she groaned out. Groggy and confused, Y/n’s face turned to Lando’s. The two met each other’s eyes and the rest was expected. The rushed words of gratitude, love, and adoration accompanied by Lando’s repeated statements for her to marry her were all seemingly written in the stars. Cliche, maybe, but the way they held each other in the soft sunlight of her hospital room, the now fiancées happened upon the thought that whatever was meant to happen was going to happen.

And they were meant to happen.

823 notes · View notes

rainybubbles · 7 months ago

Text

How do you meet COD Men ? - AU civilian

Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price, König, Rudy, Alex, Nikolai

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written, mid or if they're OOC)

SOAP as a firefighter :

-"911, how can I assist you today?"

-"I think there's been a break-in at my place!"

-"Could you describe the intruder, ma'am?"

-"It's... a turkey."

-"A turkey?"

-"Yeah, one of those gobbling birds! My neighbors use a live one for their Thanksgiving, and it somehow busted loose. It barged into my place through the door, gave me a real fright. I dashed into my bathroom, but it went all 'Rambo' on my door, and now it's busted. My handle is broken, I'm stuck in here!"

-"Don't worry, help is on the way."

-And that's when you met Soap. There he was, showing up at your doorstep in full firefighter gear.

-"Hey there ?" he greeted, axe in hand, ready to face off against the rogue turkey.

-You weren’t kidding, he thought.

-He couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the havoc that bird had wreaked in your place.

-Your poor sofa was toast, and your table was in pieces. Slowly, he made his way to the damaged door.

-"Hey there, Ah’m a firefighter. I’m here tae break down the door. Please step back."

-"Oh thanks ! I was starting to think I'd be spending the night bawling in my bathtub."

-He chuckled.

-"Wouldnae want a lovely person like yerself spendin’ Thanksgiving solo."

-"Thanks," you replied.

-"I'll get started," Soap said as he began dismantling the door.

-"Here, it looks like the turkey's gone," he reported.

-But when he turned to you, he noticed something amiss.

- Normally, people were relieved to see him, not scared out of their wits.

-His gaze shifted back, and that's when he saw it—the monstrous turkey, ready to pounce.

-Without a second thought, he scooped you up, effortlessly carrying you despite whatever size or weight you were, and bolted past the bird.

-"Why's that thing so fast?" he exclaimed.

-"They're practically dinosaurs, I swear!" you cried from the safety of his arms.

-You both made it to the street. Soap dialed up a wildlife specialist to handle the feathery menace.

-"Ah’l swearin’ off turkey forever," he vowed.

-"I think finding a new place to live might be a good idea," you whispered, still trying to calm your nerves.

-"Aye, yer neighbors are some real characters for pullin’ a stunt like this."

-"Thanks again for this. I mean, I'm sure you've got more pressing cases."

-"No’ really. Usually, it's just family squabbles. Last time, Ah had a grandma tryin’ tae kill her son wi’ mashed potatoes," he joked.

-"Grandma can get wild," you chuckled.

-"Ye have no idea. Name's John, by the way. Sorry for forgettin’ ma manners."

-"Hey, a wild turkey trying to take me out can do that to a person," you quipped. "I'm Y/n," you added.

-He grinned.

-“I owe you big time, Soap," you said, finally stepping out of the bathroom. "Guess this Thanksgiving, I'll be giving thanks for firefighters and sturdy bathtubs."

-Soap gave you a reassuring smile. "Hey, it's all in a day's work. Plus, -it's not every day I get to play hero to a person in distress... from a turkey."

-After the turkey trouble was sorted, Soap bid his farewell. Little did he know, two days later, your new neighbor would be attempting to cook aluminum in his microwave. Maybe this time he'd find a moment to ask for your number.

-------

GHOST as a chef :

-The poor waitress had asked you twice if you wanted to order by the time your date arrived. But it was painfully obvious.

-You had been stood up.

-You tried to ignore the looks, the sensation of your clothes feeling too tight, too constricting. You felt like a clown.

-Staring at your phone, you sent messages, hoping for excuses like traffic or an important matter.

-Maybe he had a flat tire, or perhaps his boss demanded he stay late. Yet, two hours later, you were still there, feeling like a fool.

-That's when the message came: "Oh, I was just joking, you're not my type, you know."

-Tears welled in your eyes as you felt the humiliation wash over you.

-How could someone flirt for two months just as a joke? He messaged you every night; how were you supposed to know it was all a farce?

-Biting your lip, you stood up.

-At this hour, you hoped there were still buses running.

-You couldn't afford an Uber. Yet, as you gathered your things, the waitress approached.

-"Excuse me, but your food will arrive."

-"I... I'm sorry, but I can't... I can't afford anything here, and my date stood me up. He was supposed to pay, and..." you rambled, feeling ashamed, but she led you back to your seat.

-You felt even more ashamed. This place was so luxurious.

-"I really can't afford it, madam," you whispered.

-"It's on the house. The chef offered it," she said gently.

-"Oh."

-You didn't know if you felt grateful or not. It felt like pity, but food from a Michelin-starred restaurant was still a luxury, so you ate. It was unbelievably good. You felt so thankful to the chef.

-"I... could I thank him?" you asked after finishing your dinner.

-"He doesn't speak to clients. That's why he opened his own restaurant — so he could remain unseen by his patrons and not be obligated to accept their thanks, As he says “I Ghost clients”" the waitress explained.

-"I see. His dishes are so precise, it's impressive."

-"Yeah, he's good with a knife."

-"Well, thanks again for offering me this. It was a crappy night, but at least I ended up in heaven," you said.

-She smiled, and you left.

-But you felt indebted to him. Dishes like that cost a lot.

- Even if you didn't doubt he could afford it, you felt like you had to do something in return.

-So the next night, you baked cookies.

-You felt ridiculous with your small Tupperware and homemade cookies.

-They'd probably taste awful to him, you thought, but you wanted to repay him.

-"Hi, I... wanted to give this to Ghost? He offered me dishes last time, and I wanted to thank him. I understand if you say no. I mean, it could have poison in it, but..." you rambled to the waiter.

-"No need, we'll take it," the waiter with a mohawk said with a smile.

-You felt like he knew something you didn't. As you were about to leave, a tall, blond man walked over, holding a cookie.

-"Thanks," he said with a gruff voice behind his mask.

-Shit. Ghost was... this man?

-This mountain of muscles made those beautiful dishes? Those meticulous details came from his hands? You were impressed.

-"Do you like it?" you asked, unsure.

-"Best cookies I've tasted."

-"I know you're lying."

-"Second," he admitted. "My ma's were better."

-You chuckled.

-"I can give you the recipe. I mean, you really saved me last night. It was so... humiliating."

-"It's not. The only one who should feel ashamed is the bloke who stood you up, love."

-"You're right, but still."

-"Come back again, Friday. With the recipe."

-"I can send it by email."

-"I want you to taste a new dish."

-"Oh."

-"Having someone honest is nice. It's a change from all the compliments."

-"Okay," you agreed.

-Little did you know, Simon would always find new dishes to make you come back.

-Of course, he could ask his sous-chefs or waiters to taste, but seeing your smile or frown after a taste was so much better.

-(I need a long fic about Simon being a chef, like this AU has so much potential, plus in kitchen you have “brigade” which could be like 141)

GAZ as a primary school teacher :

-You were on your usual delivery route, this time dropping off packages at the primary school.

-As you made your way through the corridors, you spotted Gaz, the primary teacher, who greeted you with a smile.

-"I was waiting for you," Gaz said cheerfully.

-"Oh, am I right on time?" you responded, glancing at your phone in confusion.

-"Yes, but the kids are eager," Gaz explained.

-You furrowed your eyebrows. Eager for what? Seeing a delivery person? Or perhaps the contents of your package were something special, like paintings or other intriguing items?

-"I see," you said, still puzzled.

-"Follow me," Gaz instructed, leading you into his classroom before you could protest.

-As you entered, you were met with the curious gaze of twenty pairs of eyes.

-It dawned on you as you glanced at a piece of paper – Gaz had mistaken you for the guest speaker, an athlete scheduled to address the students.

-"Sir, I think there's been a mistake," you whispered to Gaz, but before you could say more, a child wrapped their arms around you.

-"I'm so glad you're here!" the child exclaimed, melting your resolve. How could you shatter their excitement?

-You couldn’t bear to crush their excitement. Besides, it was clear that the athlete wasn’t going to show up; it was already 10 AM, and they were supposed to be there by 8AM according to the schedule on the board.

-And so, you found yourself spinning tales to answer their questions, pretending to be the athlete they expected.

-“Um, hey there ! Being an athlete is pretty cool, you know” you improvised, trying to sound convincing.

-“How does it feel to do sports all day ?” one curious kid asked

-“Well it’s tough but you know riding horse is fun”

-“I thought you were running”

-“RUNNING ! Of course, horse is just a hobby” you blurted out

-Despite your fibs, the kids beamed with admiration, hanging onto your every word.

-After a couple of hours, Gaz approached you with a knowing smile.

-"You're not the athlete, are you?" he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

-"How did you figure it out?" you replied sheepishly.

-"When you mentioned unicorns helping your coach – that was a dead giveaway," Gaz chuckled. "But I appreciate you playing along."

-"I couldn’t bear to disappoint the kids. Kids' dreams are important," you admitted, feeling a twinge of guilt.

-"Yeah, they are," Gaz agreed. "Thanks for going along with it."

-"It was more fun than my usual deliveries, anyway," you admitted with a grin.

-“Wait, your boss won’t be mad ?! I mean two hours, sorry you must be so late, no ?”he said worried

-“Don’t worry you were my last”

-As you prepared to leave, Gaz introduced himself properly.

-"Thanks against or helping out. And by the way 'm Kyle, but the kids call me Gaz – it's easier for them," he explained.

-"It was nice meeting you, Gaz," you said sincerely, touched by his kindness towards the children.

-As you left the school, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth and contentment. And to your surprise, when you made your next delivery, there was Gaz, offering to lend a hand.

-"Thought you might need some help this time," he said with a wink.

-Maybe it was repayment for your earlier assistance, or perhaps the kids had teased him about having a crush on you – either way, you were grateful for his company.

PRICE as an uni history teacher :

-It was about 10 PM, and there you were, sprinting in high heels, your wig dangling precariously.

-"Oh, for the love of all that’s good," you muttered under your breath.

-The situation was straightforward, yet utterly absurd.

- You, a university teacher, found yourself at a costume party with a Bridgerton theme.

- After hastily getting ready at your friend’s place, it dawned on you that you had forgotten your house key.

-Sure, crashing at your friend's was an option, but you had a furry friend waiting at home who needed your attention.

-So, off you went, driving back to the only place your keys could be: the teacher's offices at the university.

- Picture this: you, clad in an 18th-century outfit, a fake wig teetering on your head, and a petticoat swishing around, all the while cursing your luck and hoping no students would spot you.

-Finally, you reached the office, finding it deserted. You located your keys and—

-"Quite the accurate ensemble, I must say."

-You froze, turning to find a man with a rather impressive beard. "Um, I can explain?"

-"Are you a student?" he asked.

-"No need to butter me up; I know I don't exactly look like one," you confessed.

-He chuckled. "Sorry, I was just trying to give you an out. You know, student parties and whatnot."

-"Thanks, but yeah, I'm the… new teacher. Guess we haven't crossed paths yet. Been here about a month," you said, extending your hand.

-"Well, isn't this a fortunate coincidence?" he remarked.

-"How so?"

-"I’m John Price," he revealed.

-Your eyes widened. Oh, crap. You just met THE history teacher of the campus dressed as a Bridgerton character. What were the odds?

-He laughed. "Nice to meet my new colleague. Heard quite a bit about your work."

-"Likewise, and… sorry about the attire," you apologized.

-"No need. It suits you. Makes me feel like a proper gentleman seeing someone dressed like that," he said with a grin.

-You chuckled nervously. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Price."

-Little did you know, your next class for the first year was a shared one with him. Dodging him might not be as simple as you thought.

NIKOLAI as a F1 pilot :

-Your friend's desperate plea over the phone stirred something in you.

-"Alright, I'll come help with the shoot," you conceded, feeling a flutter of excitement mixed with apprehension.

-As you arrived at the location, taking in the serene surroundings, you couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place among the bustling crew.

-Your specialty lay in capturing the untamed beauty of animals—dogs, cats, and the like.

-This commercial setup felt like a far cry from your usual stomping grounds.

-Engaging in conversation with the staff about the artistic direction, you couldn't help but notice the artificiality of the setting, with fake plants and trees surrounding you.

-Nevertheless, you settled in, adjusting lights and preparing for the task at hand.

-"The model is here," an assistant announced, drawing your attention to the center of the room where a man stood, completely naked.

-"Why is he naked?" you whispered in disbelief, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks.

-"It's for the charity event, featuring naked pilots for calendars," the staff explained casually, oblivious to your discomfort.

-Stunned, you turned to your friend, silently questioning her decision to involve you in this unconventional endeavor.

-"I photograph nature and animals, not... naked humans!" you protested, feeling a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

-"Well, technically, you photograph a big snake," she quipped, a mischievous glint in her eye.

-You rolled your eyes, suppressing a sigh. "Ugh, don't even mention his...thing, please."

-"I don't mind being called an anaconda," the man interjected with a smirk, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made your heart race.

-Caught off guard by his boldness, you shifted uncomfortably, suddenly hyper-aware of his proximity.

- "Sir, I'm sorry, but I wasn't warned about these... circumstances," you stammered, struggling to maintain composure.

-"I understand. If we need to reschedule, no problem, Солнышко ," he reassured, his voice low and soothing, sending shivers down your spine.

-"What did you just say?" you asked, unable to hide the hint of fluster in your tone.

-"Sorry, I meant no problem to reschedule, sunshine," he clarified, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

-"But you're... a star?" you questioned, feeling a mixture of confusion and intrigue.

-"I'm a well-known F1 pilot, yes. But I'm closer to retirement than those young ones. I doubt people would buy the calendar for me," he admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle, his vulnerability tugging at your heartstrings.

-"I'd certainly buy it for you," your friend chimed in, breaking the tension with a playful grin.

-He laughed, his gaze lingering on you with a warmth that made your cheeks flush. "And you?"

-"I... maybe? Okay, we'll do it, but I can't guarantee anything. I'm more accustomed to animals, so..." you trailed off, feeling a rush of adrenaline at the prospect of working closely with him.

-"Let's get started," he suggested, his smile softening the edges of the room and easing your nerves.

-And so, the shoot commenced, with Nikolai proving to be a surprisingly adept model, effortlessly charming everyone with his wit and charisma.

- As you directed him through the poses, you couldn't help but notice the subtle tension between you, a magnetic pull that seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment.

-"Thanks for today. Need a ride?" he offered, his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

-"No, I came in my car," you replied, torn between the desire to stay and the need to escape the overwhelming atmosphere.

-"The red one?" a staff member inquired, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling between you.

-"Yeah, why?" you asked, feeling a knot form in your stomach at the thought of your car.

-"Sorry, mate, your car got impounded," they informed you, their words puncturing the bubble of tension that had enveloped you.

-You sighed, feeling a sense of defeat wash over you. "So, a ride?" Nikolai offered, his gaze softening with concern.

-"Yeah, I guess. What a crappy day," you muttered, cursing your luck.

-"Don't say that, it was great," he insisted, his voice gentle and reassuring.

-You nodded, feeling a rush of gratitude towards him for his unexpected kindness. In his car, as he drove you away from the chaos of the shoot, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over you, a feeling that was only amplified by his soothing presence.

-"Not what you were expecting, huh?" he remarked, his tone playful yet sincere.

-"Well, I wasn't expecting a race car drive, but yeah," you chuckled, feeling the tension between you slowly dissipating.

-"I drive safely. Sometimes you need low adrenaline," he explained, his words resonating with you in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

-"Thanks again for the ride," you said, turning to him with a smile that felt more genuine than any you had worn all day.

-"No problem. I mean, you've seen me naked, so..." he trailed off, a mischievous glint in his eye.

-"Yeah, sure," you laughed, feeling a warmth spread through you at the playful banter.

-"If you want, you can still come to one of my races," he offered, his gaze lingering on you with a hopefulness that sent a flutter of excitement through your chest.

-"I'll think about it," you replied, unable to suppress the smile that tugged at your lips as you contemplated the possibilities that lay ahead.

ALEX as a lawyer :

-You couldn't believe your eyes.

-A client was after you for a cup of tea—yes, you heard that right, a freaking tea!

-The same tea you accidentally spilled during a chaotic rush, and she tripped you with her feet, claiming you scalded her with hot tea. The kicker?

-You knew it was iced tea.

- But it was your word against hers, and she had a squadron of lawyers ready to pounce, while you were broke. It was pretty clear how this would end.

-You sighed, resorting to searching for lawyers online, but all you found were scams.

-One promised to chase after dead people, another claimed you'd make thousands just by being pretty, and the rest boasted about defending infamous criminals with laughably bad Photoshopped images.

-Feeling desperate, you reluctantly agreed when your mom mentioned your cousin knew someone who knew someone. You certainly didn't expect a model-lawyer showing up at your doorstep with a bright smile and legal expertise.

-"Hi, I'm Alex," he offered his hand.

-"Hi, I guess you know about my... case?" you replied.

-"Yes, there's a high chance of her winning since similar cases have ruled in favor of people like her. Remember the McDonald's hot coffee incident?" he explained.

-"So I'm screwed?" you muttered.

-"Not necessarily. I can prove she's acting out of self-interest."

-"...before you say anything, you know, I can't... afford it?" you interjected.

-"Yes. I... I used to be a prominent lawyer. Perhaps you've heard of the Shepherd case?" he mentioned.

-"The CEO who got off the hook despite everyone knowing he committed tax fraud?" you recalled.

-"Yes, I was his lawyer," he admitted.

-"Oh," you murmured, taken aback.

-"I... I'm not proud of the people I've defended. I didn't realize the harm I was causing to victims. For me, everyone deserved representation, but when I saw what Shepherd did with his ill-gotten gains... I couldn't continue down that path. I signed up to advocate for people. Not evil," he confessed.

-"So you took on lost causes like me?" you mused.

-"You could say that," he smiled.

-"Well, it sounds like Daredevil. Maybe I'll catch you wearing a latex suit at night while fighting crime," you joked.

-"You might be onto something there," he replied, his expression serious.

-"Wait, you're joking?" you asked, but he didn't crack a smile.

-"Mr. Keller, you're joking, right?" you pressed, but he just smirked.

-"Let's focus on your case," he redirected.

-"You can't just dodge my question. I need to know—"

-"Boxing. I box at night, nothing illegal. I train kids, and I've competed in the past," he confessed.

-"I see. Why do I find that hard to believe?" you teased.

-"I'm a damn good liar. I'm a lawyer," he retorted.

-"Fair point," you chuckled.”well at least I believe in the latex suit at night”

-“Kinky”he joked, you smiled.

-Alex got down to business, helping you devise a strategy.

-Maybe with this super lawyer on your side, you stood a chance. Yet, you couldn't shake the curiosity about his secrets. Who knows what uncovering them might bring?

KÖNIG as a baker :

-König had just opened his bakery.

- Eager to be neighborly, he sent some cookies to the local shops nearby.

- However, when his customers arrived one day, one of them expressed hesitation: "You know, I was hesitant to buy here because I heard you made the florist down the street sick."

-König couldn't believe his ears.

- Ashamed, he double-checked his ingredients, but everything seemed fine.

-So, he decided to switch things up and bake some croissants instead.

-Yet, the next day brought news that the florist had fallen ill due to food poisoning.

-Determined to make amends, König sent something different the following day.

-And the pattern repeated itself. After a week of this, he finally decided to confront the florist.

-Entering their cute shop, he whispered nervously, "Hallo."

-"Hi," you replied.

-"I'm König, the—"

-"The baker," you interrupted.

-He froze.

-Well, he certainly hadn't made a good impression.

-After seven incidents, he couldn't expect a warm reception, but he hoped you’d understand he hadn't done it intentionally. He wasn't a villain.

-"I'm sorry about the pastries," he began, "I swear I don't know what went wrong. Other shops ate them and had no issues. I—"

-"I know you're not trying to poison me," you interjected.

-"Oh, but... then why?" he asked.

-"I thought someone would have told you, maybe Horangi, the chef at the restaurant. But I'm lactose intolerant. I assumed you knew, so I ate your pastries thinking someone had informed you. Then, I realized that wasn't the case. But if I didn't eat your gift, you might have thought I was upset with you, so I still ate them, and—"

-"It was a misunderstanding," König finished their sentence.

-"Two anxious people overthinking things, but yeah," you admitted, laughing.

-"I promise to bake you something lactose-free," he vowed.

-"Thanks, it'll be appreciated. Your pastries were good, just not for my digestive system," you replied.

-He nodded and returned to his bakery, pondering the idea of introducing gluten and lactose-free versions of his pastries. Surely not because of the cute florist who seemed to visit more often now. Nah.

RUDY as a librarian :

-You were a young journalist, eager to dive into investigative reporting, but your editor relegated you to the local sports section since you were the new kid on the block.

- It wasn't exactly your passion, but you made the best of it. Your current assignment: write about Rodolfo Parra, a former boxer.

-Avoiding the internet due to its unreliable nature, especially for local stories, you opted for the library.

- As you searched for information on Parra, a man approached.

-"Need a hand?" he offered.

-You glanced at his badge, confirming his name as Rudy.

-"Yeah, I'm digging up info on the boxer Rodolfo Parra. I heard his early days were at the local club, so I figured the archives might have something," you explained.

-Rudy smiled. "Rodolfo Parra, huh?"

-"Yeah, you know him?"

-"You could say that, but I've heard he's not too keen on journalists."

-"Exactly why I couldn't land an interview," you sighed.

-"But why write about him? He retired two years ago," Rudy questioned.

-"My boss wants it, so here I am," you replied with a hint of resignation.

-"I've got some info, but can I trust you?" Rudy hesitated.

-"Absolutely, I'll respect his privacy. I just want to know his story, his struggles. I've heard rumors about a fixed fight where a coach, El Sinombre, forced him to lose," you shared.

-Rudy's expression darkened. "It was more than that. I'm surprised you know about it."

-"I've delved into El Sinombre's dealings before. I wanted to write for investigative reporting," you confessed. "I found it odd that a sports club had ties to a pharmacy."

-"They developed stimulants to win fights, and more... potent substances," Rudy revealed.

-"So Rodolfo lost to a doped-up opponent?" you concluded.

-"Yeah. Rumor has it, El Sinombre threatened his family if he didn't comply. Rodolfo vowed never to lose, so El Sinombre took matters into his own hands..." Rudy trailed off.

-"And Rodolfo ended up paralyzed," you finished solemnly.

-"Yeah, but with rehab, he's probably walking now. But he can't fight anymore," Rudy confirmed.

-"Having your dreams crushed like that must be devastating. A fighter silenced," you mused.

-"Maybe it was for the best," Rudy countered.

-"You think so?" you questioned.

-"Boxing isn't a lifelong career. Maybe retiring was a blessing," he reasoned.

-"I don't know, having your dreams shattered like that... it must take a toll. Imagine if someone burned down your library," you countered.

-"Well, this library was my backup dream, so I'd just have to find another," he quipped.

-You nodded, then realization dawned. "Your backup dream?"

-"Yeah," Rudy admitted. "Rudy for Rodolfo. Not the smartest move for a future investigative journalist, huh?"

-"Hey! You—yeah, I was naïve, but you could've given me a heads-up," you teased back.

-"Now, tell me about your boss. Things might be more complicated than we thought," Rudy suggested.

-"Do you think El Sinombre is after you?" you pondered.

-"We'll find out," he replied cryptically.

-Maybe your beat would evolve over time...

If you want more : my masterlist

I still need to write Alejandro, Lasswell and Farah, maybe in a next part with other characters :) !

#cod x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #call of duty x reader #captain price x reader #alex keller x reader #nikolai x reader #rodolfo rudy parra x reader #rudy x reader #konig x reader #könig x reader

517 notes · View notes

bitterrfruit · 2 months ago

Note

already FERALLL at this assistant concept more please

omg...... i'm so sorry for this. can you tell i'm ovulating? somebody sedate me please

[he wants a word with you]

Your boss is a prick and a cunthound. You need this job. here's [part 1] for some John POV Executive John Price x EA f!Reader 18+ mdni - 2.5k words - cw: degradation, free use, maybe dubcon?

You follow Mr Price down the stuffy corporate corridor, with your swollen heart in your throat.

What did you do wrong this time?

Was there an email you failed to send? A meeting you forgot to book? Maybe you saved a document in the wrong place. Maybe you missed one of your many deadlines.

You watch his besuited back, broad and tall, the billow of his open jacket as he marches ahead of you with long and aggravated strides. The back of his neck burns hot and red, he digs white-knuckled fingers into the angry skin as he rubs it vigorously.

You pass the incoming traffic of other colleagues, and you see the concern in their glare when they look at Mr Price and then at you. An unspoken apology for your imminent castigation. A silent yikes.

Fuck, he’s going to fire you. Whatever you’ve done must have been catastrophic. Did you cost him profits? Did you humiliate him in front of a client?

“Did I do something wrong?” You anxiously chirp, fearful of being too loud but not wanting him to mishear you over the sheer volume of his fury.

He doesn’t answer you.

Instead he comes to a sudden stop, and you almost slam into him with the keen velocity of your pursuit.

He gestures into the open door on his left, his other hand hooked on his hip under his jacket.

“I don’t-”

“In,” he grits, lips pursed into an admonishing line, and you do not disobey him.

With a skip you enter the room, heart thundering in your ears, and he storms in behind you.

The stationery supply room; cupboards and shelves, full of paper and writing utensils. Atop the counter sits a guillotine cutter, open reams of white A4, a few stray cuttings littered about. On the one bare wall is a hip-height printer, one that most often fails to work. The air is dry and powdery, thick with the clinical scent of fresh paper and ink.

Mr Price leaves the door ajar, and he wipes down his face with an open and rigid palm.

“What is wrong with you?” He suddenly blurts, his interrogative glare shoots straight through you.

His eyes are wide and angry, and you shuffle on your feet, fidget with your fingers. “What did I do?”

He only steams ahead with his reprimand - closing in on you, heavy step by heavy step, you stagger backwards on instinct. “Slobbering all over that fuckin’ pen. Christ. Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

Your back hits the wall behind you, it pushes a puff of nervous air from your open lips. Eyes fluttering between his, you choke on any words you think to offer him.

“I - I don’t - pen? - I didn’t-”

“What more can I do?” He growls, cranes his head to close the distance, “How far away do I have to put you?”

You suck deep a quivering breath as you blink up at him, his head a foot above yours and his body all but trapping you where you stand.

“I don’t understand,” you whimper. “What am I doing wrong?”

He huffs like a bull. “You’re fuckin’ killing me, love.”

You feel your mouth water when he calls you that. It makes your cheeks glow strawberry red.

“What can - what do you want me to do?” You ask timidly, sweetly - you want so desperately to please him. You can’t lose this job. You can’t have him disappointed in you.

He rubs his jaw with a straining hand, his murky eyes rake from your lips and linger on the faintest bit of cleavage in the collar of your button down.

“I want you to turn around.”

His order is uttered dark and hoarse, so low that you feel the vibrations of his voice from where you stand.

Your lips part gently, bottom lip trembling as you swallow under his heated glower.

But you do as you’re told. You’re a good listener, you can show him that. You spin around awkwardly in the tight space between his heaving body and the wall, until you’re met with the cold white drywall against your nose.

You hear his breathing turn ragged and animal, almost growling, it makes you sweat. You lift your arms cautiously, placing both palms flat on the wall, and stand on the very tips of your toes.

His hands are on you, then, hasty bear claws comb over your ass and clutch the meat of your hips like you might slither away from him. He tugs you backwards and you rock on your toes, arch your back to meet his pelvis with your behind.

You feel it, hard as iron and heavy as tungsten behind his straining trousers; he grinds his rigid cock against you, warning you with it, letting you feel the weight of it. He hunches forward, you feel his wiry beard against your cheek and his warm lips against your ear.

“You proud o’ yourself?” He snarls, a bestial gurgle deep in his chest. “Proud of what you do to me?”

Your heart buzzes with such speed that it makes you dizzy, turns you stupid.

“I’m - uh - I’m not-”

You want to smack yourself for your inability to form a single sentence, a single word, as you feel his harsh fingers claw up the back of your thigh, catching in the sheer black nylon that clings to your feverish skin.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” He gnars into your skin, you feel his teeth as he speaks. “‘Course not. You’re a fuckin’ airhead, aren’t you?”

His wide paw reaches the hem of your pencil skirt, the fabric too taut to be pulled up with ease - so he clutches the back of it with both hands, grips either side of the stiff kick pleat.

You yelp as you feel him rip your skirt apart by the seam, the tear of the fabric shrill and ear-splitting. Your head urgently spins on your neck as you shoot a glance at the open door - muted voices of others in the office travel through the gap, blissfully unaware of your indiscretion.

“Someone might-”

Bitten off by a gasp, his angry fists grasp at your stockings where they meet at a seam that runs down the cleft of your ass. He rips that, too, hurried and ravenous; he stretches a wide hole in the thin nylon that runs in a ladder between your legs.

“Someone might come in.” You finally find the words, moan them out in a hasty breath like he might cut you off before you can warn him.

He hisses; “I don’t care.”

His hand forms a blade, slicing between your legs and hooking under the gusset of your knickers; you hold your breath, sucking your lip between your teeth and biting down hard enough to draw blood. His thick fingers run along your slit, goading and mean, triggering a pathetic little whimper from your throat when you don’t have the words to plead.

They push past your lips, dipping between your sodden folds like he’s checking the temperature before venturing any deeper. You feel him grin against your neck, beard abrasive against your sensitive skin, as he lets out a low, cruel chuff of laughter.

“Fu-hu-huck,” he chortles, mocking, and you only let out a stifled cry as he coaxes your opening with the tips of greedy fingers. “Like being told off, do you?”

He kisses the side of your neck in a hungry and messy suck, shivering gooseflesh crawls from his bite and down your spine. He plays with your syrup between his fingers, marvelling at the quantity, the slipperiness.

You squeak as a single finger presses against the ring of muscle at your entrance, and pushes past it - he hooks it, drags it against your slick inner wall with a pressure that makes you grind against his hand to force it further.

“Answer me.”

You whine in complaint before you reply as instructed. “Yes,” you croon, writhing and eager.

He obliges you and stuffs his finger deeper, two knuckles deep, and his palm is flush with your cunt.

“Mh. You do. Fuckin’ soaked, aren’t you?” He hums deeply, hoarsely, pleased.

He pulls his finger out of you, then, and you groan in frustrated defeat.

“Don’t fuss, love,” he grumbles. “You’ll get your fill.”

With your head over your shoulder, you watch in your periphery as he smears his glistening fingers down his lips, under his nose - sticks them in his mouth and sucks them clean like he might savour the taste.

“Mh,” he rasps, grins, letting the scent and flavour of your cunt fill his mouth and sinuses until it turns his shark eyes black and hungry. “Fuckin’ good.”

You hear the leathery clinking of his belt buckle as he undoes it, the strident rip of his fly as he tears it down. A shuffle, a grunt, and his heavy cock lands against your lower back with a thump.

You gasp, turn rigid - he runs a firm hand down your spine, rests it in the dip of your back, pushes a deeper curve in the arch. Grasps your hip and yanks it back, rams your body against his, angles your pelvis just right.

He grabs his cock in a fist, smacks its solid against your ass like it’s a burden.

Holds his fingers to his lips and hucks up a lump of spit, crude and dirty, you feel him smear it against your cunt as pulls your panties to the side.

He gives no warning as he feeds his length through the hole he tore in your stockings, slides the blunt and fleshy head along your slit to coat it in the amalgam of fluids that drip from you. His tip finds its sheath, nestling between your folds and rutting against your tight opening as if to taunt you.

With a hoarse growl he bucks his hips, his cock breaks through your entrance and rams deep into your cunt with a single thrust. It forces a wet and mewling cry from your throat, forgetting that the door to the room is open and freely accessible to anybody you work with.

“Shh-sh-sh,” he hisses, he undoes his tie with a single hand as the other keeps your hips tight against him.

He ruts again, somehow deeper still, and you let out a sore yelp - but he shuts you up, stifles your crying as he packs his steel-blue tie into your open mouth. Stuffs the silk fabric behind your teeth until no more will fit, and your saccharine noises are dampened into muffled whimpers.

“Tha’s better. Fuck,” he curses through teeth. “Can barely fuckin’ fit in that little cunt of yours.”

His hand holds your throat, then, and the other controls your hip with vicious strength - and he fucks you in earnest. Fucks you hard and hostile, the round head of his cock hammers your aching cervix as if he could fuck past it. Fucks you like he’s angry, like he has been eagerly waiting for each forceful thrust - pent up since he met you, fuel only added to the flame every day that you came to work.

The tie in your mouth is sopping wet with your keening saliva, your eyes well with tears of some twisted rapture - you want to tell him it hurts, but not to tell him to stop.

“You take it good, don’t you? Found one fuckin’ thing you’re good at, eh?”

You whimper. You like him mean, don’t you? You like him angry.

You spilled that tea on purpose. You deliberately missed that deadline. You talk loudly because you know it frustrates him. You suckle on that pen because you know he wishes it were his cock.

His heavy hand clutches your wrist and pins it to the wall in front of you, and you feel light on your feet. The hole in your stockings only tears bigger with each thrust, you can hear the fabric of your pinstripe skirt rip further up the back; likewise, your cunt stretches to fit him to the hilt, the delicate skin threatening to tear as he splits you open.

With a final rut, pounding hard into your womb, he bites down on the tendinous flesh of your neck and growls into your skin, chuffs out of his nose like a grizzly; “Fuck.”

You feel his cock twitch and surge as he pumps his come deep into you, it overflows - it dribbles down the cleft of your cunt, down your thighs, soaks into the sheer polyester of your stockings. Didn’t think, or didn’t bother to ask if you were on birth control - it doesn’t matter to him. Your cunt is as much his as your livelihood, and he’ll fill it with his come if he pleases.

He leans his weight against you as he recharges, panting and spent, he rests his forehead against the back of your head.

“Mh,” he huffs, “fuckin’ needed that.”

You exhale all the air you had been holding in a breathy whine, cunt still aching and fluttering around the cock stuffed inside it, clit swollen and eager for any ounce of attention. He pays it none - only came to take, no time or interest in giving.

He pulls his tie out of your mouth in one long rope, it drags a string of glistening saliva with it.

“I’m-” you breathe furtively, mouth free, “I’m glad I could help.”

He pants out a laugh, deep and gravelly, places a drained kiss into your hair.

“Help you did,” he assures you, amused and sated. “Next time I want to see all of you. Hear me?”

“Next time?” You ask timidly.

He pulls his cock out of you, and the spate of hot come he plugged inside comes out in a gush and soaks your already damp knickers.

“Aye,” he grunts, tucking his semi-hard cock back into his boxers, insouciantly doing up his belt. “You’d like that, eh?”

You swallow a weary breath, push yourself from the wall and try to shimmy down what’s left of your skirt to conceal the mess he made underneath.

“I - um,” you hesitate, embarrassed, you tuck a piece of hair that had been fucked astray behind your ear. “I would.”

A devilish grin stretches in his lips, sharp teeth, as he loops his wet tie under his collar and does it up neatly - as neatly as he can, while it’s covered in the damp splotches of your spit.

“‘Atta girl.” With a domineering hand he grabs your jaw, tugs your head upward and meets your lips with a single hard kiss. Smiles at you with praise. “Knew you were a slut.”

“I’m n-”

“Head home for the day, will you, love,” he orders rakishly, smoothing out his pale blue button down. “Important meeting. Can’t have any more distractions. Understood?”

“Yes,” you comply with a simple nod.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Mr Price.”

“Tha’s my girl.”

#this is truly feral i'm so sorry #i fucking love mean price #captain john price smut #john price #john price x f!reader #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #john price x reader #captain john price #cod smut #bitterfruit fics #bitten-fruit

206 notes · View notes

byuntrash101 · 2 years ago

Text

Partition

reader x dom!mingi ft. jongho

smut | nsfw | mdni

husband!mingi,he's obessessed with you, nipple play, hint of body worship if u squint, praising, exhibitionism, voyeurism, cameo!jongho, marking, pet names, orgasm control, size kink, fingering with rings on, hand kink, im obessesed with his hands just leave me alone

requested | part of my 2023 prompt event [closed]

finally back from a long business trip your husband takes you to a very nice date to celebrate. but after so long apart you are not sure you can keep your hands to yourself on your way to the restaurant

[❛i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know.❜]

TUMBLR IS BASED ON REBLOGS. PLEASE REBLOG MY WORK 🖤

Inspired by Partition by Beyoncé

Took forty-five minutes to get all dressed up

We ain't even gonna make it to this club

Being married to Song Mingi, the extremely successful music producer, came with a price. And that price was time. Mingi’s time was a rare resource and extremely valuable. One day working with the Weeknd on his next album, the next day negotiating to sign with Beyonce. He was always traveling and working.

But despite all of that your husband always made sure you were his top priority and that you knew about it. Whether he would take you around the world with him and catch a nice vacation for the both of you after an intense business trip or he would make sure to take you out to a very nice date on his return.

This time it was the latter. Mingi had been gone for a while. He had to postpone the flight back to Korea a couple of times to get the job done in LA. But finally that was out of the way and he was back to you.

The timing was so tight that it was to the point where he didn’t have time to come home before the date and was just going to pick you up with his chauffeur. He didn't tell you where you were going but he said “to be prepared to be blown away”.

And coming from him that meant a lot. Mingi liked nice things and he always opted for the very best regardless of the price. So knowing that about him you knew the occasion will be anything but modest.

You opted for a lilac designer night gown, with a delicately beaded corsage that complimented your neckline, dipping just low enough. The bottom of the dress was flowy, a gradient color from lilac color to a nude. The material was flowy with light feathers and mesh. It was gorgeous and grandiose. Like the promise of this night finally reunited with your husband.

Your make up was along the line of the dress. Nude with some pop of color on the lids and on the lips. Noticeable but elegant.

When the doorbell rang you felt your stomach tighten. You were nervous. After all these years he still made your guts stir with anticipation. There’s no denying you’re head over hills for this man.

You run to the entryway, grabbing your clutch on the way and open the big mansion door.

When you look up at him you see him as dashing as ever. Cladded in a haute couture black tuxedo. Long ash blonde hair slicked back, just a single strand curved on his forehead. He looked dapper. He held out his hand for you to climb down the front steps to his arm, making sure not to injure yourself with your stiletto heels.

“You’re absolutely stunning," he said, kissing you softly on the lips, his mouth being pulled in the signature half smile that you loved so much.

He opened the door of the limo for you and helped you get in with the dress, setting you in comfortably.

The chauffeur did the same to him and took place behind the wheel.

Mingi gave him instructions on the destination. Your husband was used to bossing people around and it put you in a different mood to hear his stern voice.

You couldn’t help but to want him to boss you too. It was your turn and you couldn't stand one more second of him giving his attention to anybody other than you.

So you let your hand rest on his knee. At first he makes nothing of it and continues to guide the chauffeur around the traffic jam. So you let your hands glide up his thick muscular thigh all the way to his crotch. When your pinky brushes against his sensitive area you stop.

“What are you doing?” Mingi interrupts himself to look at you. Even though it’s a question it’s rhetorical because he knows damn well what you are doing.

“Kiss me” you answered in a feverish tone.

Mingi obliged when you pulled him by his tie. His huge frame towering over you as you felt miniscule, vulnerable and turned on. Your hands started to roam his body through his attire first the thighs then the abs then when you were about to reach his growing bulge he caught your hand.

“Shouldn’t we eat before we get to the dessert?” he lightly chuckles at your enthusiasm. You sighed deeply, visibly annoyed.

What a joykill.

“Fine!” you pouted, sitting yourself back. “But I'm not wearing any underwear. Thought you’d like to know.” you added in a slightly teasing tone.

Mingi’s expression instantly changed. From the light hearted chuckles to the cold and serious eyes that held so much power over you. The turn in his behavior and in his aura was obvious. From loving husband to sex deprived pervert.

He started to wrestle with your dress, lifting it up to testify of the truth of your statement and you squealed in surprise when you found yourself exposed like that without a heads up. Your husband let go of the flowy fabric, hiding your intimacy again behind the numerous linings and looked at you in disbelief.

“You are actually serious”

“Of course I am” you bite back hurriedly flattening the material back in place.

“Fuck baby” Mingi burried his face in the crook of your neck, his deep voice merely a low rumble soaked with lust hitting you right in the chest, tightening your stomach in knots of anticipation. You knew this tone and what it meant.

“I was trying…” he started to kiss your neck going up to your ear. “was trying so fucking hard to behave.” He licked around your ear, wet sounds bouncing back on the low ceiling of the limo, making your arousal leak through the unguarded designer dress.

“Trying to be a good husband, not devouring you the second I laid eyes on you” his hand dug into your waist pulling you closer to him. “But I can’t fucking win with you, can I?” he growled, unexpectedly biting your earlobe.

You were absolutely feral for him. After being separated for such a longtime the only thing you wanted was to be his. His cedarwood and orange blossom cologne was making you dizzy. Hypnotized by his deep voice. Controlled by his big hands.

He started to push your thin straps to the side. But as your chest was about to finally reveal itself to Mingi’s hungry gaze you stopped him.

“Shouldn’t we roll up the partition?” you asked, throwing one worried glance at the chauffeur that seemed a little too focussed on the road to be genuine.

“Don’t worry I pay Jongho well enough for him to keep his mouth shut. Isn’t that right Jongho?”

“It is, Sir” the chauffeur politely responded, expressionless eyes, diligently glued to the road.

“See?” Mingi returned with a sly smirk “Plus you know how much I love showing you off” he tipped your strap over your shoulder, revealing one of your breasts. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and knowing you were potentially being watched didn’t help one bit but somehow it felt thrilling.

Your husband pushed the other strap and soon your chest was on full display for him.

“So fucking perfect for me” he whispered immediately diving in and tasting your fiery skin on his wet tongue.

His mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, teasing it, biting it and sucking it while his hand was fondling and pinching the other. Until they reached full hardness.

You whined at his every touch, barely containing yourself to beg for more, to beg for him.

“Fuck baby show it to me again” he breathed out he as prompt his chin to the dress.

You had a glance to Jongho, still as calm and focused as a meditating monk. And you lifted the dress once again.

Mingi’s jaw dropped in awe. He always considered you as one of the seven wonders of the world. But each time he looked at you it seemed like somehow you got even more perfect.

He brought his hand to gently pull your lips apart. Uncovering the unholy and glistening mess you managed to make in such a short time.

“You’re so fucking wet for me” he sighed, biting down his bottom lip, your shimering folds putting a spell on him.

“Please Mingi” you squirmed. “Please, I want you.”

“Good girl, asking so nicely… Just can’t say no to you”

His thumb circled over your clit, drawing a light gasp out of you. Slow and steady circles only making you gush even more. Mingi slipped one finger inside and you felt like you were melting at the end of his fingers, nails digging in the expensive leather of the limo. Your stilettos barely hanging to your toes.

“Yessss” you whined, finally getting what you’ve been craving for weeks.

“You’re sucking me in so well baby” Mingi praised before slipping a second finger in. You felt the warm metal of his wedding ring entering you and whined louder.

“Please…faster” you asked, short of breath, your mind getting hazy.

“Of course, my princess”

He curled his fingers right into your sweet spot, circling it a couple of times before pumping in and out of you.

His big hands were experts at making you come undone for him, ravaging you in the most pleasant of ways. He knew you like the back of his hand and you couldn't help but to shamelessly moan and every thrust of his wrist.

“That's it baby. We want to hear you squeal” his lustful voice whispered.

We?

You glanced over at the chauffeur again and this time you could have sworn you made eye contact in the rearview mirror while his face was briefly shone under the pacing street lights but… did you imagine that?

“Hmmm baby” Mingi smacked his lips. “You really like giving a good show, huh?” Mingi smirked as he felt you becoming tighter. “Such a good girl for me.” He pumped in and out at a faster pace. A pace that he knew would end you. But since he hadn’t uttered the magic words yet you held it in.

It took everything you had to not cum on the spot. You tried to not think about your husband's lustful eyebrow raises and lip bites, about the unholy squelching wet sounds your wet cunt was producing, about the wandering eyes of Jongho in the front seat. You tried so hard but you were on the verge of exploding.

“Pleaseee” you desperately begged as a last cry for help, a last hopeless request for your release.

“Go ahead my princess” Mingi whispered, administering the fatal blow as his thumb went back to drawing fast circles on your hyper sensitive clit while finger fucking you into oblivion.

“Cum. Now.” his stern low voice ordered.

You instantly came undone. Your pussy gripping around your husband’s beautiful long fingers, stretching you to perfection. Your nectar flowing out of your like a river as you cried out in bliss, throwing your head back on the head rest, eyes rolling back into your skull with fatal joy.

Mingi gradually slowed down, allowing you to come off your high before pulling his digits out of you. You crashed your lips on his not caring about the state of your lipstick and started to fidget with the buttons of his vest but he started to chuckles into the kiss.

“Babe, we’re here” he said, pushing his messy hair back.

“What already?” you pouted in disappointment.

“We’ve been in the car for almost 45 minutes” your husband chuckled again.

“But I…”

“Let’s go baby or they might give our table away… Let's eat and on the way back I'll let you return the favor. How about that?” your eyes darted to his constricted bulge, lips burning at the idea of tasting him.

“Find a parking spot and wait for us, Jongho… I have a feeling we won’t be long”

“Yes, Sir”

A/N: oof sorry for taking so long to update! my first mingi smut did you like it?? leave a comment or drop by my asks. feedback is always appreciated <3

#mingi smut #ateez smut #mingi #ateez #ateez mingi #mingi ff #ateez ff #mingi fanfic #ateez fanfic #mingi hard hours #mingi x you #ateez x you #kpop smut #dom!idol #dom!mingi #fanfic #kpop fanfic #smut

2K notes · View notes

rosedere · 6 months ago

Text

Murder Mountain

(Yandere Azul Ashengrotto x Afab Reader)

Modern AU

TW: Dark Content, Attempted Murder, Harassment, Non Con/Rape.

Part 1, Part 2 (You are here), Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Cross Posted on AO3.

Part 2 Summary:

Azul and you take a trip into the mountains; Little do you know Azul has his own agenda.

Can you take me to northern California

Where the grass is greener

Can you make me dissappear

Be my puppeteer

Don't you leave again

You really didn't expect to get this far

literally and figuratively.

Arriving at the gated estate full of pine trees and golden fences, on the tall menacing gate before you was a entry buzzer, roughly, you pressed the button, a ring resounding from the buzzer on the outside post was heard echoing around the woods.

You weren't expecting to immediately be let in, the dark metallic gates opening before you effortlessly.

Pausing you looked around cautiously; no way your boss just let you in.

But you couldnt back down now was what encouraged you to walk up the winding driveway leading past the numerous gardens and waterways connecting to a massive renaissance fountain in the center of the estate further back.

Keeping your eyes peeled for any witnesses it seemed his sprawling estate was deserted.

Only after a few more minutes of walking, you made it to the illustserous main house.

You knew him being a multi billionaire would entail a huge house, but not to the extent of having a house as big as a small town.

At the doorstep, you observed his three doorway poarch the doors were made of a see-through glass with frosted tint coating said doors. Being able to see the interior of his spiraling house with dark wooden floors and almost minimal walls but nothing more without walking up to the door to look in.

Taking note of the garage next to the doorway along with a ten foot tall ornamental tree, you notived the massive garage was open with a several expensive cars sitting there,ominously, lined up in order of price most likely.

Noting Azul was no where to be found you approached the door in the middle looking for, something, to announce your presence.

Finally you spotted a doorbell, quickly you went to where the smart doorbell was.

you had your finger extended but before you could ring he doorbell, a hand was firmly pressed onto your shoulder.

With a hard swallow, you retracted your hand.

Turning, you were met with your enemy.

Azul Ashengrotto.

"No need for that, I'm already ready to depart"

You only looked stoic at him.

"You said you'd be here 30 minutes ago," He replied in his usual business tone.

Azul was wearing an expensive camping long-sleeve shirt you'd seen at designer sports stores, almost as much as your rent was if you had to make a guess was what he wore on his body along with matching hiking khakis.

It almost seemed like he was dressed up for someone.

Other than that, he didn't look noticeably different from how you'd normally see him in the office.

Including his scowl that was practically oozing discomfort.

Focus (name).

"just traffic, the walk up from where I parked didnt help either," you shrugged hoping your answer would appease him.

Not like you cared for his response, though.

waiting for a snide remark about your outfit or about your flimsy excuse it was silent for way too long.

Looking over at your boss instead of seeing him disgusted you watched him look you up from head to toe.

"it seems you decided to dress more feminine today" azul smirked, "it looks good on you I can actually see your body more in detail"

If only there wasnt so many cameras and possible witnesses out of sight...

Before you could stay angry however, he tossed you a black rectangular item, looking closer you realized it was a Electric car key.

Of course, he's rich enough to have a keyless car.

Azul walked off towards a car parked the furthest in the garage, looking in the back of the trunk you could see almost ten bags of god knows what stacked neatly in the deep trunk bed.

Thank god he did; easier to hide your lucky bag.

You load your "bag" into his trunk with hesitancy, loading it into the back of all the luggage so it wouldn't be of note to him or anyone looking through the trunk if the worst case scenario occurs.

"Is that all you brought?" Azul abruptly says from behind you causing a flinch from you.

He probably only was watching to make sure you didnt steal his luggage.

"It didn't seem necessary to bring much," you murmured, closing the trunk you walked towards the drivers side.

You got inside as fast as you could into the car first almost about to put the key inside when you realized Azul was still outside.

He seemingly was looking through his luggage off course confirming your earlier suspicions.

Ignoring him, you looked for the start button eventually finding it next to the console.

Pressing the ignition button, a jolt of worry from this morning stung you.

Why was this going too well?

Does he know I'm going to get my long-desired revenge?

Maybe this is a set up he probably is going to lure me there and Jade and the police will be waiting to-

"Never driven a car like this before or what?" Azul mocked this from his side in the passenger seat as he started buckling himself in closing the door with a hard slam.

"It's automatic; all you do is press the screen twice, put your location in, and then you steer once every 30 minutes," he explained, idly combing his finger into his hair seemingly in his own little world.

The mountain specifically.

You grabbed the steering wheel after you entered the directions to the campsite.

"Now drive"

The first 2 hours of the drive, nothing eventful happened, which intensified your sense of dread that kept sticking to you.

You tried to preoccupy your mind with softball, Jade, and your boyfriend. Azul was looking out the windows or would check his phone and fidget with it for moments at a time.

If you really focused on the winding roads that led the two of you deeper into the evergreen sea of trees, it almost felt like he wasn't there.

Until the beginning of hour 3.

You had been focusing on directing the bulky steering wheel getting it to turn on the windy passage up the mountain when you felt something weird.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Your hands around the steering wheel tightened.

Looking over pretending to fix the mirror was when you saw Azul.

Azul had been staring at you.

You looked again through your peripheral vision.

A pair of cerulean peered back towards you.

You had no idea what was behind his locked on stare, it was more annoying to you seeing him gawking at you if anything.

"You seem tired (name)"

Oh here it comes...

"Do you want me to drive?" Azul asked as he shifted his position from his seat.

He was now facing you directly with the same sickening look on his face to receive from someone who'd been cruel to you for so many years.

"Why do you ask Mr. Ashengrotto? We're almost there, but if you need to stretch, there's several rest stops and one gas station before we get to our destination," you gripped the steering wheel harder.

The mask is back on.

"Im merely suggesting so you can have enough..."

Suddenly his hands curled around your clothed thigh before vigorously kneading it.

"Energy for later," Azul smiled his gaze now looking up your side profile again.

"Thanks, but I'll be fine, Mr. Ashengrotto."

"Azul"

Azul then placed his hand onto your thigh giving it a gentle squeeze.

The discomfort was unbearable.

But you reassured yourself you had approximately 1 hour, 40 minutes, and 50 seconds to get ready for the next and last phase of your plan for revenge.

Out of the sea of evergreen trees you both found yourselfs surrounded by canyons and revines alongside occasional thick redwood trees and a few meadows scattered about.

10 feet to your destination.

A vast clearing overlooked a ravine that would lead up to one of the mountain structures besides the campground, and behind the cute little wooden cabins lining the rough rocky road was a unmistakable towering mountain.

The oppressive nature it had was hauntingly beautiful; you had to admire it from all sides in your mind.

The familiar camping ground your company always had events at was finally right in front of you.

You awkwardly parked the car next to the first cabin reserved for Mostro Inc.

Furthest from all the cabins...

Turning the ignition off, Azul immediately got out and walked towards the cabin, stretching and eventually reaching for his phone to call someone you couldn't quite pick up.

Good.

You watched him disappear, guessing Azul wanted to go to the cabin to see if it was to his taste.

Hastily, you popped the trunk and grabbed some of his bags, noticing most were arranged differently from before.

You knew he would scold you if he didnt have access to his bag for a few moments too long.

Grabbing the expensive hard case luggage two at a time you began to approach the open door.

Step

You entered the cabin to reveal it to be an ordinary cabin.

Definitely worn from the conditions it would face from various seasons, but it had a touched-up quality to it, with a very comfortingly decorated entrance way leading to a small kitchen and living room full of cute camping decorations reminiscent of a cozy fall cottage.

To the right was a presumed guest room, which only had a full-sized bed with a whole antique wardobe, a bedside lamp, and one small window. On the opposite side of the hallway was the actual master bedroom of sorts.

It had a queen-sized bed with a built-in closet and bathroom you were about to further inspect it when you unexpectedly caught him walking out of the bathroom.

With something in his hands, one hand had something that was reminscent of...

Personal lubricant the label read.

His other hand contained a few pills you didnt recognize.

Weird.

"Mr- I mean Azul. I have some bags here"

"I'm not sure if you want me to get the rest of your luggage or-"

You held up the luggage youd brought hoping you could dash away from whatever was happening in front of you.

"Of course" he briefly answered.

You rolled the luggage towards the door when Azul suddenly spoke.

"Actually, can you set those bags in the kitchen?"He pointed at the bags you had.

Y/N….

You thought you misheard him.

Flashing a smile you quickly walked away into the kitchen to set them by the wooden coffee table in the center of it.

You turned around to walk back out when your eye was caught on the two glasses set on the counter. It seemed as if whoever had stayed here last had left some items.

Immediately you realized what Azul was most likely doing, shaking your head in disgust at the thought of your boss using the cabins you all used as his personal getaway for his many women.

Trying to push the image of Azul having sex out of your mind you walked back outside, almost knocking yourself against the heavy lock that was on the door.

Rubbing the spot on your left side as you walked down the wooden steps to the car.

Step

Only about A few bags remain.

Cautiously walking inside, you didnt expect to see your boss in the kitchen. It seemed he didnt notice you enter or if he did didnt acknowledge you as you heard the sound of pouring fill the room.

The sounds of glasses clinking and cutting against a hard surface was heard but grew distant as you continued into the master bedroom.

Placing the bags next to the bed you noticed he had left a box of chocolates next to the bed.

Most likely for him to eat by himself, you snickered before carrying on making sure to avoid the lock again, you carefully opened the door and noticed a slight hesitation on the door.

Weird.

Azul must be messing with it to make sure it locks. You couldn't blame him since, once again, he was the most expensive man in the world.

You grabbed the remaining bags.

Now is the time to act...

After carefully concealing your "bag,” you juggle it between the heavy luggage Azul had and prayed it was camouflaged enough, walking up the steps.

Step

Lock.

You leave the remaining bags in the master bedroom.

Only....

That feeling of extreme dread washes over you as you drop the last luggage onto the bed.

"Y/N, would you like a drink?”

Your eyes flicked to the glass he had in his hand; Cucumber water.

"I just wanted to turn a new leaf with you (name)"

Azul took a sip out of the glass in question.

"why dont we see this trip as a way to understand each other"

You still stared at him in disbelief.

Why now would he want to become friends or anything with you now?

"Sorry, I'm not really thirsty" you turned away from him picking your "bag" off the ground.

But before you could leave he blocked the doorway.

"Just a sip" he smiled.

You knew he wasnt asking anymore.

Gingerly you grabbed the glass before putting it to your lips, His eyes watching as you let yourself consume a little swig.

Weirdly enough, you were actually parched and the cucumber was refreshing. He did drink a little bit of it anyway so you knew he didnt do anything to poison you.

Azul was still standing before you waiting for you to take another sip of the liquid. Letting your lips touch the glass once more you drank eyeing him to see when he'd move.

Except he didnt move until you had downed the whole water.

"See that wasnt so bad (name)" he gingerly grabbed your glass before setting off towards the kitchen.

You rolled your eyes before taking the "bag" to the bedroom across. Leaving your bag ontop of the bed a wave of warmth wrapped around you.

The thrill of finally being able to inact your revenge was nearly through.

You unzipped the "bag" going through the motions of unzipping it.

Until you felt yourself suddenly lose control of your arms.

And then you passed out ontop of the bed next to your items.

You couldnt open your eyes but you could feel your bra being unclasped.

Someone was undressing you agonizingly slow.

You tried to move your hands only to feel them heavy. Not as if you were bound but you simply couldnt pick them up.

Using your strength you opened your eyes to see.

Azul.

And the now locked master bedroom before you.

#yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere twst #yandere x you #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto x yuu #yandere x reader #tw noncon #tw kidnapping

63 notes · View notes

halfmoth-halfman · 2 years ago

Text

i. it's a new day, it's a new life

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 2.6k Warnings: alcohol mention, (very, very brief) blood mention Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. prev | next

If you’re on time, you’re late.

That’s what your father drilled into your head—one of his many rules for life and how it should be lived. As a kid, you hadn’t cared much about the endless rules and regulations and life lessons he tried to impart on you, but as an adult, you’ve found an appreciation for his old words of wisdom. You try to live your life accordingly—be a woman he would’ve been proud of.

Though, you suppose trying to make him proud is what got you in this situation in the first place.

Regardless, his schedule is burned into your brain, leaving you wide awake and ready to go a full two hours before your first shift at The 141. Nerves and excitement combine into a cocktail of restlessness that has you pacing the length of your motel room. It’s a short walk both ways, your feet following the already well-worn path of the dingy, frayed carpet.

When pacing doesn’t settle you, you opt to lie down. Flopping back onto the partially stained sheets of your lumpy bed to stare up at the ceiling—its popcorn surface cracked and chipped from a shoddy attempt at repairing the water damage.

This isn’t where you expected to end up—stuck in some rundown motel with nothing but the clothes on your back.

You thought you’d get much farther than this.

But with hardly any cash and a car running on empty, rival territory seemed as good a place to stop as any. At the very least, it meant you wouldn’t be followed.

If there were any rules your father was lenient on, crossing into 141 territory wasn’t one of them; everyone in your family—and anyone who was familiar with them—knew better than to disobey him.

Had he a grave, you might’ve actually visited it to give your thanks.

A stray mattress spring digs into your lower back—sharp edge scratching through your thin, black shirt and the thick denim of your jacket—pulling you from your wandering thoughts.

Might as well get a head start.

You bounce yourself into an upright position, double-checking the laces of your boots before you stand. The lights flicker when you flip the switch, flashing too bright before shutting off as you step out into crisp autumn air. You look at the door behind you, slotting your keys between your fingers to form a makeshift claw in your fist as you cross the parking lot to your car.

Your car’s in as bad shape as the room—bought used, and paid for in cash—but it gets you where you need to go, so you don’t complain. You slide into the driver’s seat—shutting the door twice because it never closes all the way the first time—and check for your duffle bag in the backseat before putting your key in the ignition. It takes a minute to start, then another to stop rattling, but you have extra time and don’t mind the wait.

The drive to the club is uneventful—too early for morning traffic—and you have another hour before you’re meant to start, so you take your time on the drive.

You park in the back this time, tucking your duffle bag under the backseat, then double and triple-checking that the doors are locked before making your way to the front of the club.

No one else appears to be inside, but the door’s unlocked, and the lights are on. You can see a small, wheeled cart full of cleaning supplies sitting near the stage that you can only guess is for you. If your watch is correct, you have a little under half an hour before you have to start. You could start now—get a jump on what you're sure is to be a busy day—or…

Your father’s armchair tales ring in the back of your head.

What was it he had said?

They paint the walls red so you can’t see the blood stains and keep the bodies in a morgue hidden behind the walk-in freezer.

You doubt there are any secret morgues, but you are curious about the rest of the interior. And it would help to be familiar with the layout before you start cleaning, right?

It takes alarmingly little to convince yourself to have a little walkabout—you always were too curious for your own good—making your way to the bar first. The stairs leading to the second floor are on the left and roped off with a thick velvet cord, so you turn your attention to the right side.

The booths don’t interest you; though the heavy curtains cover them, you know what lies behind them. There's a short hall past them that leads to a large set of double doors with glass windows that reveal part of a massive kitchen. Even from here, you can tell the countertops are polished to perfection. It almost reminds you of—

Nope.

You turn away from the kitchen, ignoring the small knot of dread and nostalgia that begins to settle in the pit of your stomach. You turn to face the stage, leaning back against the bar top. There’s a hallway to the left of the stage that winds around behind it, but there are no lights to illuminate the way, and you know better than to wander down unlit hallways.

That just leaves—

Between the booths and the hallway behind the stage are a pair of solid black double doors. Similar to the one in front of the stairs, a gold stanchion sits in front of them, but there’s no velvet cord connecting them.

You’ve got twenty-six minutes to kill.

Why not?

A small skip down the stairs and a few hurried steps, and you’re at the door, glancing to your left and right before you set a hand on the cold metal of the door handle and turn.

With a sharp click, the door sways open.

Why don’t they ever lock their doors?

You creep inside, holding the handle down to shut the door silently behind you. You’re let into a small waiting room with more double doors—this set is solid glass, save for the handles, with one door slightly askew. You take that as an invitation, waltzing through the doors with care to not leave fingerprints on the glass.

You’d have to be the one to clean them, after all.

A strange sense of nostalgia hits you as soon as you enter the office. All dark wood and luxury, you’re hit by the scent of cigars—the expensive kind your father kept in his own office but never actually smoked—with undertones of a spiced cologne. You stand opposite the desk—a spacious cocobolo covered in papers, picture frames, and a closed laptop.

The wall to your right has been converted to several overflowing bookshelves surrounding a large fireplace. The wall to your left houses a large TV and a fully stocked whiskey cabinet that stretches up to the ceiling. Plush couches sit on either side of you—two near the fireplace and one facing the wall-mounted television—matching the chairs sitting in front of the desk.

Probably shouldn’t be in here.

You ignore the desk and the alcohol, heading straight for the wall of books. There are a few you recognize, but most are unfamiliar to you. Your fingertips graze the spines, admiring the soft feel of the leather covers as you search for titles you know.

It takes a few shelves, but you manage to find one you recognize. You pluck it from the shelf without a thought—in awe at the beautiful, custom cover—but the weight of it takes you by surprise. It’s not an overly thick book, you think, balancing it in one hand to open the cover, so why is it—

The carved-out pages are a surprise.

The gun even more so.

Definitely shouldn’t be in here.

“Find something you like?”

You snap the book shut with a swiftness, holding it behind your back as you slowly turn toward the doors. A man stands in the open space, staring you down with an arched brow on his otherwise blank face.

He hadn’t been there the day before; you’re sure you would’ve remembered him if he had.

Kyle and the others had seemed friendly—if somewhat caught off-guard—but this man is all authority. Calm, intimidating authority. Gentle waves ready to pull you into the violent undertow.

Dark brown hair just beginning to grey at the temples and…unique facial hair; he stares you down with piercing blue eyes and thick arms folded across his broad chest.

You know designer when you see it.

And though he appears dressed in simple black pants and a white button-up with rolled-up sleeves, you can tell the fabric, and its quality, cost more than most anyone could afford.

He’s handsome—in a stern, professor sort of way.

“Good read?” he asks, stormy cerulean gaze dipping down to where your hands are tucked behind your back.

Oh.

That deep rasp melts into your ears, dripping into your brain to pour a fiery path down your spine and settle into a burning pit low in your belly.

“I wasn’t— I—” you stutter, struggling for words and praying he can’t see the red blooming on your face.

Calm down.

The worst he can do is kill you.

You collect yourself, opening your mouth to respond properly, but he beats you to it, “Club’s not open right now, love.”

“I work here,” you say, plastering that award-winning smile on your face. His eyes snap to yours, thick brows knitting together.

“That so?” he asks, slow and disbelieving. “And what is it you do here?”

“Clean,” you answer. You move the book-slash-gun-case to one hand so you can check your watch. “In fact, my shift starts in…two minutes and thirty-six seconds. So, I should probably…y’know…go clean.”

You take easy, deliberate steps, moving in front of the desk so you can set the book on top of it. You try to be discreet, but something about those eyes tells you not much gets past this man. You take a step forward, but he doesn’t move, standing firmly in your path.

“The new cleaner,” he sighs, uncrossing his arms to run his thumb over an eyebrow. “It’s Robin, yeah?”

“Canary, actually.” The smile does little to hide the bite in your voice, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Canary,” he says your name slowly, letting it roll off his tongue as if to get a taste of your character. “The woman my son hired with no phone and asked to be paid in cash.”

His son? Kyle?

Well…at least your boss is nice to look at.

“Yep, that would be me—” you straighten up, extending your hand out to him, “—pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Sir,” he laughs to himself—a quiet, amused huff just under his breath—and reaches out to wrap his large hand around yours. “Price. John Price.”

His handshake is firm—a little too firm in your opinion—but he’s so warm the heat from his skin sinks into your palm and spreads up your arm.

“Did Gaz go over the club rules with you when he hired you?” Mr. Price asks, holding your gaze as he shakes your hand.

“Gaz?”

“My son, Kyle.”

“Oh. No, not really.” The handshake continues through your short conversation, his hand slowly tightening around yours. You loosen your grip to pull away, but his fingers squeeze around yours.

“I won’t bore you with the details, then. But I’ll let you know the most important one.”

Shocks of pain shoot through your wrist as his hand tightens into a vice. He yanks you forward with surprising strength, and you stumble at the sudden jerk. You catch yourself before you collide with him, but you’re significantly closer—almost chest-to-chest with him.

He takes it in stride, leaning down to set his mouth near your ear. His beard scratches at your skin as the pressure from his hand begins to cut off circulation in your own.

He smells just how his office looks: all smoked wood and wealth and danger.

“You don’t come into my office. Ever. Understood?” His voice is a quiet growl in your ear—a gentle one-time forgiveness with a warning that is more promise than threat; you doubt he’s ever made a threat he wouldn’t follow through on.

A chill wracks your body.

You can’t tell if it’s from fear or inappropriate excitement.

He pulls back to look at you, ocean-hued eyes staring down into yours. You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you nod, and finally he lets go of your hand.

He brushes past you, scent lingering behind as you attempt to massage the feeling back into your palm.

“You can go home for the day. Start fresh tomorrow,” Mr. Price says casually, picking up the book you’d left on his desk and heading to return it to its place on the bookshelf. “Ghost will show you out.”

You whip around to stare at his back in confusion.

“Ghost?”

Is this place fucking haunted?

What are the ethics of employing the dead?

He looks back at you, nodding at something over your shoulder. You slowly follow his gaze, turning your head like a horror-movie protagonist.

Your nose nearly collides with an impressively solid chest. You crane your head up, searching for a face that must be attached to this solid wall of muscle and intimidation before you. How had a man that size gotten so close without a sound?

He’s dressed in solid black, this giant, every inch of skin covered from the neck down. A cloth mask rests over the bottom half of his face, white paint dried and chipping in the shape of the bottom half of a skull. His honey-brown eyes are shadowed by smudged black paint that reminds you all too much of your three-day-old eyeliner after a weekend bender. His sandy-blonde hair is cropped short, strands hanging messily over his forehead. Twin scars bisect his left eyebrow and eyelid, and pull taut as he glares down at you.

“Let’s go.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, crushing grip wrapping around your forearm to pull you toward the door. He shoves you through it—not hard, but forceful enough for you to trip over your own feet—following directly behind you.

“See you tomorrow, Sparrow!” Mr. Price calls just as the door shuts.

Ghost follows you all the way to the parking lot, close enough for you to feel his body heat at your back at all times. He watches you get into your car, shut the door once then twice, and listens to the engine struggle to a start.

He doesn’t leave as you pull out of the lot, and you can see his shadowy form watching you in your rear-view mirror.

You get back to the motel in record time, but once you pull into a space, you can’t find it in yourself to get out. Instead, you fold your arms over the steering wheel, dropping your head on top.

“What am I doing?” you mumble, pressing your forehead into your arms.

That was the question, wasn’t it?

What are you doing?

You didn’t have to be here. You could’ve been back in the comfort of your home, lounging by one of the pools or getting ready for some fancy gala with those frilly little cakes and good wine.

But pools and galas meant skimpy bathing suits and revealing dresses; both options meant being leered at by those around you and being put down by—

Stop it.

You turn and rest your cheek on your arms, glancing behind you at the duffle bag lying on the floorboards.

It’s not ideal, where you’re at now, but it’s better than where you used to be. A small bump in the road is all this is. No one will follow you here, and you can deal with John Price and his intimidatingly handsome face for the few weeks it’ll take to get some cash under your belt so you can move on.

For now, you're safe, and that’s all you need.

taglist: @sleepyendymion, @blazedprince, @blueoorchid, @ohgodthebogisback, @melancholyy-hill, @wasteland-babe

#captain price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #captain price #john price #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #mw fics #moth writes

696 notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 5 months ago

Note

“I'm wrapped 'round your finger like this ring I'm wearing”

With Nicholas Baxter? 👀🫶🏻🫶🏻🩵🩵

Tagging: @kmc1989 @burningpeachpuppy @est1887 @flopiboni @wabi-sabi1090

You have Nick wrapped around your wedding finger, you know it and so does he. You’re dressed in that pretty rose silk nightdress he likes with that sultry look in your eyes and Nick, he just can’t resist you. You’re a siren and he’s one of those sailors, powerless to resist your call. He intends it to be quick, something to sate you until he can take his time later on but it’s never quick, not with you.

He's an hour late to his meeting. He turns up in a different shirt than he started the morning with because the original had gotten rumpled during your love making.

“Terrible traffic.” He tells Nolan Price as he sits down at his desk and flicks through his messages. “Every day it seems to get worse.”

He tries to pay his penance by working late but of course you have other ideas, it is your wedding anniversary after all. When you turn up at his office that evening to take him to dinner, you’re wearing the same damn shirt you made love in this morning.

It’s like Pavlov’s Bell, his cock begins to stir in his trousers and before he knows it he’s sweeping the paperwork off his desk and fucking you for a second time in nothing but that shirt.

“I can’t deny you anything can I?” He whispers, his thumb chasing over the apple of your cheek in the aftermath. “You say jump and I just say how high.”

“Someone has to be the boss of you otherwise you’d work yourself to death.” You tell him, your nose trailing along his until your lips are barely touching. “Now put your coat on, you’re taking me for dinner.”

Love Nick? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#tony goldwyn #nicholas baxter #nicholas baxter x reader #nick baxter x reader #nick baxter #law and order #law & order

45 notes · View notes

supertrainstationh · 2 years ago

Photo

GAME GEAR

Super Train Station H

• • • • • • • •

Game Gear: keeps you busy till the train's here.

Full color screen, 8-bit graphics so vibrant they make your eyes tear. No one cared that it's just a smaller Master System, it had top tier games, so we put it into commission.

Stereo sound to listen, but only if you've got headphones: can't squeeze two speakers on something that predates iPhones.

Playing on the ride home - Dad's stuck in late night Brooklyn Bridge traffic, speed's a no-go: but I'm behind the wheel with Ayrton Senna racing in Monaco.

The glow of the screen, makes the back seat a party scene, the batteries running out now would be a bad dream - they drain faster than Sonic dying in "Sonic Spinball". Mom's got extra Duracells, she has it covered, so trust her.

Vanishing colored gems in "Columns" like Fruit Gushers.

"Fantasy Zone", a shooter with Lisa Frank syndrome, space combat so cute you don't wanna quit.

"Sonic the Hedgehog", where do I start with this? I admired Eggman's robot transformation gimmick, but roboticizing my animal friends is beyond my limit.

Doc mocks me with Cumming's Robotnik cartoon voice, because my head-canon for this game is multiple choice. Sally, Antione, Bunny,and Rotor are my back-up crew, gonna beat Robotnik, and all his Badniks too, and solve mechanical puzzles too tough for Nancy Drew.

The Doctor's sinister, his boss stages make my head spin, but in the name of great justice: I gotta fight him - powered by six double-A's of bottled lightning.

Loved my Game Gear, for playing in the dark; nothing came near, but its nemesis the Game Boy was one for Sega to fear. Nintendo's black-and-white screen made Sega get cocky, let their guard down, but Game Boy came swinging like Rocky.

Smaller price tag - which the parents loved. Needing less batteries fit budgets like a glove. Barely small enough to fit into a 90's kid's pocket, looks like a brick today, but back then, it was some hot kit. You know Mr. Yokoi's team was proud of it. And the batteries lasted a lot longer too, you could play all day hiding it under your desk at school.

And Sega boned their own ads by dissing Game Boy fans, instead of luring handheld gamers with an olive branch.

Wow. What a system, How could I not miss it? Nostalgia soaring high like "Space Harrier" missiles.

I showcase it on Twitch to help spread the word, sometimes it's new to even long-time Sega nerds. I'd talk forever on Game Gear, you know I like this. But my batteries are low, so it's time to split.

[My Twitch] [My VOD Channel] [My FA] [My Ko-fi]

#game gear #sega #poetry #writing #h writes stuff #retro gaming #a.griffin writes

444 notes · View notes

trashybread · 3 months ago

Text

I'm posting this in a sleep delirium but do you kno what the cod fandom desperately NEEDS? Cliche 2015 wattpad AU fanfiction plots. You don't know how much you need it until you start thinking about it.

I need a psychiatrist Soap going into his new job at a mental asylum and meeting Ghost and other patients like gaz, price, everyone. Need makarov to be the boss. Ghost being the crazy but helping soap gain everyones trust. Need soap to start questioning if theyre actually mad because strange things keep happening and they're always right (I've been thinking about this one for days) doesn't even need to be a mental asylum, just a mental hospital. Gaz with a PICA, Ghost with psychosis or schizophrenia, price with severe OCD, roach maybe w/ cptsd so he's muted bc of it? maybe he acc got forever 14yo mentality not the infantilizing way but forever the apocalyptic phase and v sweet THEREFORE no one worries abt Talking secret matters w/ him around cuz he's basically a kid, he wont tell anything ever ... Right.

Or one where gaz finds a number in the gay bar bathroom stall (there's number and "amazing head and advices") but its a dead number so he starts venting like once a month to the voicemail and one day someone does returns. Make it spicier and its actually his neighbor. Make it even SPICIER and his neighbor KNOWS IT but it just doesn't click to gaz so now he's stuck between the phone guy "Johnathan" and his divorced neighbour Mr. Price. It all ends when he gets in big money trouble and calls Johnathan in a last hope alternative to save him and price shows up out of nowhere to get him hmmmffhfmmf

COFFEE. SHOP. ALTERNATIVE. UNIVERSE. WANNA MAKE THIS EVEN COOLER??????? SUPERNATURAL COFFEE SHOP. YEAH. Roach works in this coffee shop that actually has supernatural beings visiting but to normal human eyes it's fucking empty. The coffee shop is completely hidden unless you search for it really fucking hard and Ghost, weirdo that he is, is livid to find this empty coffee shop away from traffic and human noises. He always wonder how they can keep the business going with one client (him)

UNIVERSITY AU!!!!!!!!!!! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!!??? JOCK X NERD. ROOMMATES!!!! THEY HATE EACHOTHER BUT HAVE TO DO A GROUP PROJECT TOGETHER AND END UP GOOFING AROUND IN THE OTHERS HOUSE AND BECOME BFFS. MAKE IT ANGST BC JOCK (Sorry! Soap vibes..) DOESN'T WANT TO BE THE NERDS FRIEND AND THROWS HIM UNDER THE BUS. DON'T WANT ANGST???? MAKE IT SO JOCK STARTS ACTING LIKE A GUARD DOG AFTER THAT. MAYBE IT RUINS HIS REPUTATION BUT HE HAS HIS NOW BOYFRIEND.

COD fandom needs to tighten up! No more souless 4k pwp oneshots. Let's remember our roots.

#ok i dragged pwp to the trenches but i read them all soo...#does anyones still say pwp?#do i sound 47 years old by saying pwp instead of smut #i was going to call it lemon tbh #cod mw3 #ghost call of duty #simon Riley #soap call of duty #gaz call of duty #john price #i miss being 14 on wattpad man #i miss it a lot #ill be back :/#cod mwii #gary roach sanderson #roach cod

28 notes · View notes

dailyanarchistposts · 6 months ago

Text

A.3.5 What is Anarcha-Feminism?

Although opposition to the state and all forms of authority had a strong voice among the early feminists of the 19th century, the more recent feminist movement which began in the 1960’s was founded upon anarchist practice. This is where the term anarcha-feminism came from, referring to women anarchists who act within the larger feminist and anarchist movements to remind them of their principles.

The modern anarcha-feminists built upon the feminist ideas of previous anarchists, both male and female. Indeed, anarchism and feminism have always been closely linked. Many outstanding feminists have also been anarchists, including the pioneering Mary Wollstonecraft (author of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman), the Communard Louise Michel, and the American anarchists (and tireless champions of women’s freedom) Voltairine de Cleyre and Emma Goldman (for the former, see her essays “Sex Slavery”, “Gates of Freedom”, “The Case of Woman vs. Orthodoxy”, “Those Who Marry Do Ill”; for the latter see “The Traffic in Women”, “Woman Suffrage”, “The Tragedy of Woman’s Emancipation”, “Marriage and Love” and “Victims of Morality”, for example). Freedom, the world’s oldest anarchist newspaper, was founded by Charlotte Wilson in 1886. Anarchist women like Virgilia D’Andrea and Rose Pesota played important roles in both the libertarian and labour movements. The “Mujeres Libres” (“Free Women”) movement in Spain during the Spanish revolution is a classic example of women anarchists organising themselves to defend their basic freedoms and create a society based on women’s freedom and equality (see Free Women of Spain by Martha Ackelsberg for more details on this important organisation). In addition, all the male major anarchist thinkers (bar Proudhon) were firm supporters of women’s equality. For example, Bakunin opposed patriarchy and how the law “subjects [women] to the absolute domination of the man.” He argued that ”[e]qual rights must belong to men and women” so that women can “become independent and be free to forge their own way of life.” He looked forward to the end of “the authoritarian juridical family” and “the full sexual freedom of women.” [Bakunin on Anarchism, p. 396 and p. 397]

Thus anarchism has since the 1860s combined a radical critique of capitalism and the state with an equally powerful critique of patriarchy (rule by men). Anarchists, particularly female ones, recognised that modern society was dominated by men. As Ana Maria Mozzoni (an Italian anarchist immigrant in Buenos Aires) put it, women “will find that the priest who damns you is a man; that the legislator who oppresses you is a man, that the husband who reduces you to an object is a man; that the libertine who harasses you is a man; that the capitalist who enriches himself with your ill-paid work and the speculator who calmly pockets the price of your body, are men.” Little has changed since then. Patriarchy still exists and, to quote the anarchist paper La Questione Sociale, it is still usually the case that women “are slaves both in social and private life. If you are a proletarian, you have two tyrants: the man and the boss. If bourgeois, the only sovereignty left to you is that of frivolity and coquetry.” [quoted by Jose Moya, Italians in Buenos Aires’s Anarchist Movement, pp. 197–8 and p. 200]

Anarchism, therefore, is based on an awareness that fighting patriarchy is as important as fighting against the state or capitalism. For ”[y]ou can have no free, or just, or equal society, nor anything approaching it, so long as womanhood is bought, sold, housed, clothed, fed, and protected, as a chattel.” [Voltairine de Cleyre, “The Gates of Freedom”, pp. 235–250, Eugenia C. Delamotte, Gates of Freedom, p. 242] To quote Louise Michel:

“The first thing that must change is the relationship between the sexes. Humanity has two parts, men and women, and we ought to be walking hand in hand; instead there is antagonism, and it will last as long as the ‘stronger’ half controls, or think its controls, the ‘weaker’ half.” [The Red Virgin: Memoirs of Louise Michel, p. 139]

Thus anarchism, like feminism, fights patriarchy and for women’s equality. Both share much common history and a concern about individual freedom, equality and dignity for members of the female sex (although, as we will explain in more depth below, anarchists have always been very critical of mainstream/liberal feminism as not going far enough). Therefore, it is unsurprising that the new wave of feminism of the sixties expressed itself in an anarchistic manner and drew much inspiration from anarchist figures such as Emma Goldman. Cathy Levine points out that, during this time, “independent groups of women began functioning without the structure, leaders, and other factotums of the male left, creating, independently and simultaneously, organisations similar to those of anarchists of many decades and regions. No accident, either.” [“The Tyranny of Tyranny,” Quiet Rumours: An Anarcha-Feminist Reader, p. 66] It is no accident because, as feminist scholars have noted, women were among the first victims of hierarchical society, which is thought to have begun with the rise of patriarchy and ideologies of domination during the late Neolithic era. Marilyn French argues (in Beyond Power) that the first major social stratification of the human race occurred when men began dominating women, with women becoming in effect a “lower” and “inferior” social class.

The links between anarchism and modern feminism exist in both ideas and action. Leading feminist thinker Carole Pateman notes that her “discussion [on contract theory and its authoritarian and patriarchal basis] owes something to” libertarian ideas, that is the “anarchist wing of the socialist movement.” [The Sexual Contract, p. 14] Moreover, she noted in the 1980s how the “major locus of criticism of authoritarian, hierarchical, undemocratic forms of organisation for the last twenty years has been the women’s movement … After Marx defeated Bakunin in the First International, the prevailing form of organisation in the labour movement, the nationalised industries and in the left sects has mimicked the hierarchy of the state … The women’s movement has rescued and put into practice the long-submerged idea [of anarchists like Bakunin] that movements for, and experiments in, social change must ‘prefigure’ the future form of social organisation.” [The Disorder of Women, p. 201]

Peggy Kornegger has drawn attention to these strong connections between feminism and anarchism, both in theory and practice. “The radical feminist perspective is almost pure anarchism,” she writes. “The basic theory postulates the nuclear family as the basis of all authoritarian systems. The lesson the child learns, from father to teacher to boss to god, is to obey the great anonymous voice of Authority. To graduate from childhood to adulthood is to become a full-fledged automaton, incapable of questioning or even of thinking clearly.” [“Anarchism: The Feminist Connection,” Quiet Rumours: An Anarcha-Feminist Reader, p. 26] Similarly, the Zero Collective argues that Anarcha-feminism “consists in recognising the anarchism of feminism and consciously developing it.” [“Anarchism/Feminism,” pp. 3–7, The Raven, no. 21, p. 6]

Anarcha-feminists point out that authoritarian traits and values, for example, domination, exploitation, aggressiveness, competitiveness, desensitisation etc., are highly valued in hierarchical civilisations and are traditionally referred to as “masculine.” In contrast, non-authoritarian traits and values such as co-operation, sharing, compassion, sensitivity, warmth, etc., are traditionally regarded as “feminine” and are devalued. Feminist scholars have traced this phenomenon back to the growth of patriarchal societies during the early Bronze Age and their conquest of co-operatively based “organic” societies in which “feminine” traits and values were prevalent and respected. Following these conquests, however, such values came to be regarded as “inferior,” especially for a man, since men were in charge of domination and exploitation under patriarchy. (See e.g. Riane Eisler, The Chalice and the Blade; Elise Boulding, The Underside of History). Hence anarcha-feminists have referred to the creation of a non-authoritarian, anarchist society based on co-operation, sharing, mutual aid, etc. as the “feminisation of society.”

Anarcha-feminists have noted that “feminising” society cannot be achieved without both self-management and decentralisation. This is because the patriarchal-authoritarian values and traditions they wish to overthrow are embodied and reproduced in hierarchies. Thus feminism implies decentralisation, which in turn implies self-management. Many feminists have recognised this, as reflected in their experiments with collective forms of feminist organisations that eliminate hierarchical structure and competitive forms of decision making. Some feminists have even argued that directly democratic organisations are specifically female political forms. [see e.g. Nancy Hartsock “Feminist Theory and the Development of Revolutionary Strategy,” in Zeila Eisenstein, ed., Capitalist Patriarchy and the Case for Socialist Feminism, pp. 56–77] Like all anarchists, anarcha-feminists recognise that self-liberation is the key to women’s equality and thus, freedom. Thus Emma Goldman:

“Her development, her freedom, her independence, must come from and through herself. First, by asserting herself as a personality, and not as a sex commodity. Second, by refusing the right of anyone over her body; by refusing to bear children, unless she wants them, by refusing to be a servant to God, the State, society, the husband, the family, etc., by making her life simpler, but deeper and richer. That is, by trying to learn the meaning and substance of life in all its complexities; by freeing herself from the fear of public opinion and public condemnation.” [Anarchism and Other Essays, p. 211]

Anarcha-feminism tries to keep feminism from becoming influenced and dominated by authoritarian ideologies of either the right or left. It proposes direct action and self-help instead of the mass reformist campaigns favoured by the “official” feminist movement, with its creation of hierarchical and centralist organisations and its illusion that having more women bosses, politicians, and soldiers is a move towards “equality.” Anarcha-feminists would point out that the so-called “management science” which women have to learn in order to become mangers in capitalist companies is essentially a set of techniques for controlling and exploiting wage workers in corporate hierarchies, whereas “feminising” society requires the elimination of capitalist wage-slavery and managerial domination altogether. Anarcha-feminists realise that learning how to become an effective exploiter or oppressor is not the path to equality (as one member of the Mujeres Libres put it, ”[w]e did not want to substitute a feminist hierarchy for a masculine one” [quoted by Martha A. Ackelsberg, Free Women of Spain, pp. 22–3] — also see section B.1.4 for a further discussion on patriarchy and hierarchy).

Hence anarchism’s traditional hostility to liberal (or mainstream) feminism, while supporting women’s liberation and equality. Federica Montseny (a leading figure in the Spanish Anarchist movement) argued that such feminism advocated equality for women, but did not challenge existing institutions. She argued that (mainstream) feminism’s only ambition is to give to women of a particular class the opportunity to participate more fully in the existing system of privilege and if these institutions “are unjust when men take advantage of them, they will still be unjust if women take advantage of them.” [quoted by Martha A. Ackelsberg, Op. Cit., p. 119] Thus, for anarchists, women’s freedom did not mean an equal chance to become a boss or a wage slave, a voter or a politician, but rather to be a free and equal individual co-operating as equals in free associations. “Feminism,” stressed Peggy Kornegger, “doesn’t mean female corporate power or a woman President; it means no corporate power and no Presidents. The Equal Rights Amendment will not transform society; it only gives women the ‘right’ to plug into a hierarchical economy. Challenging sexism means challenging all hierarchy — economic, political, and personal. And that means an anarcha-feminist revolution.” [Op. Cit., p. 27]

Anarchism, as can be seen, included a class and economic analysis which is missing from mainstream feminism while, at the same time, showing an awareness to domestic and sex-based power relations which eluded the mainstream socialist movement. This flows from our hatred of hierarchy. As Mozzoni put it, “Anarchy defends the cause of all the oppressed, and because of this, and in a special way, it defends your [women’s] cause, oh! women, doubly oppressed by present society in both the social and private spheres.” [quoted by Moya, Op. Cit., p. 203] This means that, to quote a Chinese anarchist, what anarchists “mean by equality between the sexes is not just that the men will no longer oppress women. We also want men to no longer to be oppressed by other men, and women no longer to be oppressed by other women.” Thus women should “completely overthrow rulership, force men to abandon all their special privileges and become equal to women, and make a world with neither the oppression of women nor the oppression of men.” [He Zhen, quoted by Peter Zarrow, Anarchism and Chinese Political Culture, p. 147]

So, in the historic anarchist movement, as Martha Ackelsberg notes, liberal/mainstream feminism was considered as being “too narrowly focused as a strategy for women’s emancipation; sexual struggle could not be separated from class struggle or from the anarchist project as a whole.” [Op. Cit., p. 119] Anarcha-feminism continues this tradition by arguing that all forms of hierarchy are wrong, not just patriarchy, and that feminism is in conflict with its own ideals if it desires simply to allow women to have the same chance of being a boss as a man does. They simply state the obvious, namely that they “do not believe that power in the hands of women could possibly lead to a non-coercive society” nor do they “believe that anything good can come out of a mass movement with a leadership elite.” The “central issues are always power and social hierarchy” and so people “are free only when they have power over their own lives.” [Carole Ehrlich, “Socialism, Anarchism and Feminism”, Quiet Rumours: An Anarcha-Feminist Reader, p. 44] For if, as Louise Michel put it, “a proletarian is a slave; the wife of a proletarian is even more a slave” ensuring that the wife experiences an equal level of oppression as the husband misses the point. [Op. Cit., p. 141]

Anarcha-feminists, therefore, like all anarchists oppose capitalism as a denial of liberty. Their critique of hierarchy in the society does not start and end with patriarchy. It is a case of wanting freedom everywhere, of wanting to ”[b]reak up … every home that rests in slavery! Every marriage that represents the sale and transfer of the individuality of one of its parties to the other! Every institution, social or civil, that stands between man and his right; every tie that renders one a master, another a serf.” [Voltairine de Cleyre, “The Economic Tendency of Freethought”, The Voltairine de Cleyre Reader, p. 72] The ideal that an “equal opportunity” capitalism would free women ignores the fact that any such system would still see working class women oppressed by bosses (be they male or female). For anarcha-feminists, the struggle for women’s liberation cannot be separated from the struggle against hierarchy as such. As L. Susan Brown puts it:

“Anarchist-feminism, as an expression of the anarchist sensibility applied to feminist concerns, takes the individual as its starting point and, in opposition to relations of domination and subordination, argues for non-instrumental economic forms that preserve individual existential freedom, for both men and women.” [The Politics of Individualism, p. 144]

Anarcha-feminists have much to contribute to our understanding of the origins of the ecological crisis in the authoritarian values of hierarchical civilisation. For example, a number of feminist scholars have argued that the domination of nature has paralleled the domination of women, who have been identified with nature throughout history (See, for example, Caroline Merchant, The Death of Nature, 1980). Both women and nature are victims of the obsession with control that characterises the authoritarian personality. For this reason, a growing number of both radical ecologists and feminists are recognising that hierarchies must be dismantled in order to achieve their respective goals.

In addition, anarcha-feminism reminds us of the importance of treating women equally with men while, at the same time, respecting women’s differences from men. In other words, that recognising and respecting diversity includes women as well as men. Too often many male anarchists assume that, because they are (in theory) opposed to sexism, they are not sexist in practice. Such an assumption is false. Anarcha-feminism brings the question of consistency between theory and practice to the front of social activism and reminds us all that we must fight not only external constraints but also internal ones.

This means that anarcha-feminism urges us to practice what we preach. As Voltairine de Cleyre argued, “I never expect men to give us liberty. No, Women, we are not worth it, until we take it.” This involves “insisting on a new code of ethics founded on the law of equal freedom: a code recognising the complete individuality of woman. By making rebels wherever we can. By ourselves living our beliefs . … We are revolutionists. And we shall use propaganda by speech, deed, and most of all life — being what we teach.” Thus anarcha-feminists, like all anarchists, see the struggle against patriarchy as being a struggle of the oppressed for their own self-liberation, for ”as a class I have nothing to hope from men . .. No tyrant ever renounced his tyranny until he had to. If history ever teaches us anything it teaches this. Therefore my hope lies in creating rebellion in the breasts of women.” [“The Gates of Freedom”, pp. 235–250, Eugenia C. Delamotte, Gates of Freedom, p. 249 and p. 239] This was sadly as applicable within the anarchist movement as it was outside it in patriarchal society.

Faced with the sexism of male anarchists who spoke of sexual equality, women anarchists in Spain organised themselves into the Mujeres Libres organisation to combat it. They did not believe in leaving their liberation to some day after the revolution. Their liberation was a integral part of that revolution and had to be started today. In this they repeated the conclusions of anarchist women in Illinois Coal towns who grew tried of hearing their male comrades “shout in favour” of sexual equality “in the future society” while doing nothing about it in the here and now. They used a particularly insulting analogy, comparing their male comrades to priests who “make false promises to the starving masses … [that] there will be rewards in paradise.” The argued that mothers should make their daughters “understand that the difference in sex does not imply inequality in rights” and that as well as being “rebels against the social system of today,” they “should fight especially against the oppression of men who would like to retain women as their moral and material inferior.” [Ersilia Grandi, quoted by Caroline Waldron Merithew, Anarchist Motherhood, p. 227] They formed the “Luisa Michel” group to fight against capitalism and patriarchy in the upper Illinois valley coal towns over three decades before their Spanish comrades organised themselves.

For anarcha-feminists, combating sexism is a key aspect of the struggle for freedom. It is not, as many Marxist socialists argued before the rise of feminism, a diversion from the “real” struggle against capitalism which would somehow be automatically solved after the revolution. It is an essential part of the struggle:

“We do not need any of your titles … We want none of them. What we do want is knowledge and education and liberty. We know what our rights are and we demand them. Are we not standing next to you fighting the supreme fight? Are you not strong enough, men, to make part of that supreme fight a struggle for the rights of women? And then men and women together will gain the rights of all humanity.” [Louise Michel, Op. Cit., p. 142]

A key part of this revolutionising modern society is the transformation of the current relationship between the sexes. Marriage is a particular evil for “the old form of marriage, based on the Bible, ‘till death doth part,’ … [is] an institution that stands for the sovereignty of the man over the women, of her complete submission to his whims and commands.” Women are reduced “to the function of man’s servant and bearer of his children.” [Goldman, Op. Cit., pp. 220–1] Instead of this, anarchists proposed “free love,” that is couples and families based on free agreement between equals than one partner being in authority and the other simply obeying. Such unions would be without sanction of church or state for “two beings who love each other do not need permission from a third to go to bed.” [Mozzoni, quoted by Moya, Op. Cit., p. 200]

Equality and freedom apply to more than just relationships. For “if social progress consists in a constant tendency towards the equalisation of the liberties of social units, then the demands of progress are not satisfied so long as half society, Women, is in subjection… . Woman … is beginning to feel her servitude; that there is a requisite acknowledgement to be won from her master before he is put down and she exalted to — Equality. This acknowledgement is, the freedom to control her own person. “ [Voltairine de Cleyre, “The Gates of Freedom”, Op. Cit., p. 242] Neither men nor state nor church should say what a woman does with her body. A logical extension of this is that women must have control over their own reproductive organs. Thus anarcha-feminists, like anarchists in general, are pro-choice and pro-reproductive rights (i.e. the right of a woman to control her own reproductive decisions). This is a long standing position. Emma Goldman was persecuted and incarcerated because of her public advocacy of birth control methods and the extremist notion that women should decide when they become pregnant (as feminist writer Margaret Anderson put it, “In 1916, Emma Goldman was sent to prison for advocating that ‘women need not always keep their mouth shut and their wombs open.’”).

Anarcha-feminism does not stop there. Like anarchism in general, it aims at changing all aspects of society not just what happens in the home. For, as Goldman asked, “how much independence is gained if the narrowness and lack of freedom of the home is exchanged for the narrowness and lack of freedom of the factory, sweat-shop, department store, or office?” Thus women’s equality and freedom had to be fought everywhere and defended against all forms of hierarchy. Nor can they be achieved by voting. Real liberation, argue anarcha-feminists, is only possible by direct action and anarcha-feminism is based on women’s self-activity and self-liberation for while the “right to vote, or equal civil rights, may be good demands … true emancipation begins neither at the polls nor in the courts. It begins in woman’s soul … her freedom will reach as far as her power to achieve freedom reaches.” [Goldman, Op. Cit., p. 216 and p. 224]

The history of the women’s movement proves this. Every gain has come from below, by the action of women themselves. As Louise Michel put it, ”[w]e women are not bad revolutionaries. Without begging anyone, we are taking our place in the struggles; otherwise, we could go ahead and pass motions until the world ends and gain nothing.” [Op. Cit., p. 139] If women waited for others to act for them their social position would never have changed. This includes getting the vote in the first place. Faced with the militant suffrage movement for women’s votes, British anarchist Rose Witcop recognised that it was “true that this movement shows us that women who so far have been so submissive to their masters, the men, are beginning to wake up at last to the fact they are not inferior to those masters.” Yet she argued that women would not be freed by votes but “by their own strength.” [quoted by Sheila Rowbotham, Hidden from History, pp. 100–1 and p. 101] The women’s movement of the 1960s and 1970s showed the truth of that analysis. In spite of equal voting rights, women’s social place had remained unchanged since the 1920s.

Ultimately, as Anarchist Lily Gair Wilkinson stressed, the “call for ‘votes’ can never be a call to freedom. For what is it to vote? To vote is to register assent to being ruled by one legislator or another?” [quoted by Sheila Rowbotham, Op. Cit., p. 102] It does not get to the heart of the problem, namely hierarchy and the authoritarian social relationships it creates of which patriarchy is only a subset of. Only by getting rid of all bosses, political, economic, social and sexual can genuine freedom for women be achieved and “make it possible for women to be human in the truest sense. Everything within her that craves assertion and activity should reach its fullest expression; all artificial barriers should be broken, and the road towards greater freedom cleared of every trace of centuries of submission and slavery.” [Emma Goldman, Op. Cit., p. 214]

26 notes · View notes

owls-spice-cabinet · 1 year ago

Text

Daybreak

Posting this was so weird bc I didn't want to post it on Ao3 but there was already Part 1 on Ao3 so HERE WE ARE i guess idk it's out there floating in the void somewhere without my name on it bc I couldn't figure out how to post anonymously on Ao3 and it's too late to reclaim my orphan now :) but here's the Ao3 link

ANYWAY. This is a continuation of a previous fic of mine called Dawning. Ao3 link there for everyone. @worldseer @cod-dump @midnight193 anyone not 18 years of age, get the fuck out for legal reasons thanks byyyyee

Words: ~7000 Content: blow jobs, cum swallowing, outrageous flirting, idk it's not that spicy Ship: implied eventual nikpricegraves; it's mostly just nik/graves and price/graves

Phillip had been in London a few times now, mostly either stopping over between flights or meeting up with a new client from somewhere even farther away. He had a few places he liked to frequent when he had some time to himself, although that wasn’t common. Typically, he’d follow his Shadows around like their namesake to various restaurants and bars—sorry pubs. Right now, however, he’d let the more outgoing of them go off while he and the others stayed at their hotel. It was a new place, not one he’d stayed in before with or without his troops, but he’d also never brought this number of troops through London before. When he’d asked Laswell for recommendations, he’d taken her seriously.

For the price, the place was surprisingly accommodating, which probably put it towards the top of Laswell’s list in the first place. It was far from the city center, leaving plenty of buffer room between his forces and the rest of the public. He wasn’t paranoid, he was experienced, and experience told him cordoning off a whole floor of one hotel with armed guards—armed American soldiers—might have raised too many questions surrounded by an entire city of international travelers. Granted, that meant the rooms were a little smaller than some others he'd stayed in, but the management clearly had some experience in putting up soldiers for a few nights.

It did have a nice bar, too. It was backed up against the hotel’s in-house restaurant, so they could share supplies without having the bar as the main focal point to the foot traffic outside. There were numerous tables throughout the space, and a collection of booths set up against the back wall and one of the sides. A large rectangular window ran the length of the wall opposite the bar, and there were two doors out of the room: one exited to the street behind the hotel, and the other went to the rest of the building and the rooms upstairs.

Phillip sat in a booth against the side wall, enjoying the chance to quietly wind down after a more informative mission than he’d counted on. It had been slightly awkward at times, after he’d worked up to returning Nik’s advances where other people might notice it. He hadn’t been making a show of it, just… hadn’t been hiding. It hadn’t been awkward doing it—actually that had been so stupidly easy, it had felt like breathing. Answering very carefully worded questions from his officers had been the awkward part, mostly for them. Especially for Jackson, who’d followed him out of the Marines and had stayed at his right hand for almost a decade now.

Fortunately, no one had been an ass about it. Granted, that was probably a perk of being your own boss. If anyone was dumb enough to be an ass where he could prove it, he could fire them. But honestly, aside from the odd conversations and the usual frustrations that came with dealing with Russians, the mission had wrapped up neatly. Not entirely successful, but certainly far from failure.

Phillip got up and walked over to the bar. One of the bartenders, a woman with dark red hair and glasses whose nametag read Shelly, took notice and put a smile on as he came within conversational distance.

“Is everything alright, sir?” she asked.

“Just fine, thank you,” he answered politely. He set his half-finished whiskey on the rocks down on a coaster. “If I ask you to keep an eye on that while I go use the restroom, would you do that?” He figured it wasn’t much to ask, considering there were all of twenty people in the room, and all but three were his Shadows—his quieter Shadows.

Sue him, he was a little paranoid. He was military, he’d just pissed off some Russians, and he wasn’t at his home base. He was allowed.

Shelly smiled and nodded. “Absolutely, sir. I’ll put it over here for you,” she said, picking it up and setting it behind the bar near her station. “Just ask when you’re back.”

“Much obliged,” he said, taking note of where it had ended up. Then he left.

-scene break-

When he returned, he heard the hum of chatter in the room was about the same as he’d left it. Nothing much had changed. It was still only barely 21:45, so no one was in a hurry to get to bed—not even his Shadows, who’d had a long flight today. Phillip eyed his Shadows, scattered at various booths and tables throughout the room. They seemed to be exactly as he’d left them as well, gathered in their groups of three to five and talking quietly amongst themselves.

The doorway that led down to the restrooms was on the far end of the room from the bar. He’d emerged behind most of the other people in the room, giving him plenty of time to survey the room. He looked around to where he’d been sitting earlier, and stopped.

Now that was fascinating.

Laswell had recommended this hotel, he recalled. She knew it had the capabilities to keep him and his soldiers safe and happy for the time they had to be here. Except, Kate Laswell was not an officer of any military force. She had no troops to command, and rarely traveled in groups who needed such accommodations. Why might she have known about this little place, then?

Phillip smiled to himself, recognizing the back of Nikolai’s head and shoulders at one of the tables near the rows of booths against the back wall. Looking around, he saw John Price standing at the bar, making small talk with the other bartender whose name Phillip didn’t know. He almost did a double-take, then stared, trying to figure out what about John’s person had suddenly made it almost impossible to look away from him.

He figured it out as he walked silently up behind Nik’s chair. Nik, John, and Sergeant Garrick had all had to leave before the mission in Urzikstan had officially resolved, so he hadn’t been there in person for Phillip to share all the amusement he found in putting a few puzzle pieces together about himself. For example, he’d figured out, after those three had left, why he had felt so differently towards Nik when John had clearly been flirting with him over roughly the same amount of time, and Phillip had been just as clueless.

The answer was surprisingly simple. Surprising to him, at least. Again, he had been clueless.

See, Nik had started out as something resembling a friend. If John hadn’t been in the picture, Nik was someone Phillip would have asked out on a date, held hands with, watch a movie with—all those horribly romantic things he’d always felt weird about before.

John? Not quite the same thing.

He’d finally figured out he wanted John to absolutely ruin him, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what that would entail.

And while the dark blue collared shirt and grey jeans John wore now were nothing particularly special on their own, it was the first time Phillip had seen him out of field uniforms and a tac vest. The outfit was nothing if not encouraging.

When he reached Nik’s chair, he put one hand on the back of it, careful not to touch Nik more than brushing his shirt with the back of his knuckles. He knew sneaking up on people with combat training was a gamble already.

“John oughta be more careful,” he said in a low voice, “leaving such a handsome man like you unattended in a bar at night.”

Nik had tensed initially upon realizing someone had snuck up on him. But he had long since recognized Phillip’s voice. He hummed, giving no verbal answer, his shoulders relaxing.

Phillip leaned over, placing his other hand on the tabletop so he was hovering beside Nik’s head. “But then again, with an ass like that, maybe he doesn’t need to be careful,” he said, tilting his head slightly in John’s direction with a small smile.

Nik’s own smile turned a bit devious as he followed the indicated line of sight to John’s ridiculously attractive backside. Then he looked back to Phillip. “Are you suggesting I only stay with him for his looks?”

Phillip turned his head to meet his gaze. “I wouldn’t dream of such an insinuation, Nikolai. I have it on very good authority that you have excellent taste in men.”

That made him laugh softly, his dark eyes crinkling. Phillip had missed the heady, fluttery feeling he got seeing it. The whiskey he’d been drinking earlier couldn’t compare. Nik lifted a hand to place under the far side of Phillip’s jaw, turning his head just a bit more until he could lean in to kiss him.

Phillip gave a silent sigh, leaning into him in return. Yeah, he had missed this too. When Nik released him, he checked the bar and found John hadn’t moved.

“How long are you here?” Nik asked him.

“Just tonight and tomorrow night,” he answered, a little distantly. He was thinking.

“Don’t stare too hard, you’ll burn a hole in those very hard-working jeans,” Nik said with a smile.

Phillip ducked his head and smiled. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and glanced back up at the bar before looking at Nik again. “He was flirting with me half the mission.”

“He was, very badly. It was funny when you did it back, though,” Nik said, reaching up to trace the underside of Phillip’s jaw with a fingertip.

He nodded his agreement. He’d only managed it once or twice before John and the rest had left, but the effect had been priceless. The look of shock all over his face right before he’d muttered something like “fuck off” and stalked away had entertained Phillip for days the first time.

“I don’t want to interrupt your evening, but I also feel like you’ll understand perfectly if I tell you this,” he said, keeping his voice low at Nik’s ear.

Nik’s hand remained tucked under his jaw. “I am listening, Лучик,” he murmured.

Phillip was glad the light in the room was low enough to help disguise whatever blush was creeping up the back of his neck. Just because he’d admitted it to himself didn’t mean he knew how to admit it to other people. He’d meant it when he’d said Nik would understand—he was counting on it, actually. “I have been wanting that man to fuck me into oblivion for weeks.”

The smile on Nik’s face widened, gaining a sharp edge. His dark eyes glittered when they turned to him. “I don’t think I would mind such an interruption at all,” he said in that low tone that made Phillip’s knees wobble a bit. “I have it on good authority that he is very good at such things.”

Phillip could practically feel the blood in his body draining south—a fairly novel sensation, he might point out. He hadn’t realized what proper sexual arousal felt like outside of physical stimulation until about a month ago, and that had been almost as groundbreaking as realizing he hadn’t actually been romantically invested in any of his previous relationships.

Nik wasn’t finished speaking, however. “I do have two conditions,” he said. “One, you are doing the work of seducing him, because I want to see that. Two, I will allow the interruption tonight, if I am allowed to have you to myself tomorrow night?” He accentuated the last phrase by taking hold of Phillip’s jaw, turning his face to him, and gently running his thumb across his bottom lip.

This man would be the death of him, Phillip was sure. He grinned, barely resisting the urge to lick his bottom lip. “You got yourself a deal, handsome,” he said. He lifted his hand from the back of Nik’s chair, setting it on his shoulders instead. Before he stood up, Nik pulled him in for a peck on the lips. He squeezed his shoulder in return as he straightened up from where he’d been leaning on the table.

Nik and John must have come here before, he was starting to suspect. John had been standing at the bar, chatting with the other bartender for a while now. Even the most complicated cocktails on the menu here didn’t take that long to make, so there must be some history there. Plus, Phillip remembered he still had to retrieve his own drink from Shelly. He did that first, walking up to her with a polite smile.

“I’ve kept it safe for you sir,” she said, setting it in front of him.

“Thank you very much,” he said, picking the glass up and taking a drink from it. Then he turned to face down the bar towards John. “So why don’t you ever wear jeans in the field, John?”

John stared at him, blue eyes dark and impassive. The bartender he’d been talking to took note and set about actually making drinks. John was silent for a long pause, like he was waiting or looking for something. “Thought those lot might be military,” he said gruffly, gesturing to the nearest table of Shadows.

They weren’t in uniform exactly, but it wasn’t far from it. A few of them wore the company-issued sweaters or jackets. Hell, Phillip himself was wearing a black collared shirt with the Shadow Co. insignia stitched small over the left breast. He was allowed to wear his own merch, he’d founded the damn thing.

“Yeah, we’re stopping over for a couple nights on our way back across the pond,” Phillip explained, stepping closer. “Laswell recommended this place, actually. Guess I know why now, seeing as you’re both lookin’ pretty cozy around here,” he went on, tipping his head towards Nik watching from his table.

John grunted, accepting a pint from the man behind the bar. “Yeah, funny thing,” he muttered, taking a sip, then licking foam from his mustache.

“Gonna answer my question?” Phillip prompted, leaning an elbow on the bar. “Saw plenty of the guys wearin’ jeans in Mexico. Never seen ‘em on you ‘til now.”

It was clear John didn’t quite grasp what he was doing here yet, but was still valiantly trying to figure it out. “We have dress codes for a reason,” he answered, holding his gaze. “They work for job.”

Phillip nodded like he’d actually cared about the reason why. He hadn’t, not truly. “Well, I guess I’m grateful you follow dress codes, then,” he said, raising his glass a little.

He got another outwardly impassive look in response, only briefly interrupted by the bartender placing a second drink near him, presumably for Nik since Phillip had seen vodka go into the mix. “Do I want to know why?” John asked, sounding the slightest bit genuine.

With a slow grin, he leaned in. “’Cause I would’ve been dead six different ways if you’d had these on out there,” he said, helpfully casting his gaze down John’s person to make his point. “’Specially considering you like to lead up front—” He sucked air through his teeth, quirking his eyebrows a hair higher. “Distracting.”

John caught on, finally, rolling his eyes and turning back to his pint. “Fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered, taking another, bigger, drink from it.

“Oh, you can dish it out, but you’re not taking it?” Phillip asked.

“I was not—!” He cut himself off sharply when he caught the smirk on Phillip’s face.

He raised an eyebrow at him. “You weren’t what?” he asked. “When you were watching me check over my weapons and you made me do it twice because you wanted to see how I handled the equipment, and then said I had good handling skills for an American, you weren’t doing what, exactly?” He was being nice enough to keep his voice down, but it did mean he had to get a little closer than a usual conversation.

He would admit, he did enjoy the stern glare he was getting out of this. After a few confusing weeks at the mercy of Nik’s very purposeful flirting and John’s only sometimes purposeful flirting, it was nice to be on the same page for this exchange.

“None of your boys is here, no need to worry about a reputation,” he added quietly. “I’m certainly not.” He wasn’t worried about his reputation, no, but there were plenty of aspects of this conversation he was largely bluffing through. But what else was new for him?

John rolled his eyes minutely. “You’re fuckin’ insufferable since you figured yourself out.”

“I was insufferable before, too. But even then, I couldn’t manage to get under your skin the way I can now, so what does that tell you?”

“Fuck all.”

Phillip smiled again. “Does it bother you that you’re no longer automatically controlling the conversation now that I know what you’re doing?” In his periphery, he saw John’s hand flex and tighten around his pint glass. “I wouldn’t be too concerned. I mean, you’ve still got plenty of experience in other areas that I don’t, so I’d probably let you push me around a bit if you wanted.” Never mind the fact that, like Nik, John’s arms were incredible, and he probably wouldn’t have minded in the first place if either of them wanted to push him around at all.

Huh. Go figure.

For the first time since Phillip had walked over here, John’s eyes weren’t carefully unreadable. Something about his expression had darkened almost imperceptibly, and Phillip couldn’t decide how he felt about the shudder that it sent down his spine.

This time John leaned in a little. “Don’t make an offer you’re not willing to follow up,” he said.

“When have I ever backed out of a good deal, John?” he replied, keeping an easy smile on his face despite his heartrate ticking up just from the tone of John’s voice.

“A deal?”

“I get what I want, you get what you want. Mutually beneficial arrangement.”

A small smile appeared on John’s face as he moved his pint glass a little farther from the edge of the bar. He leaned an elbow on the wooden surface, mirroring Phillip’s position. “You know what you want, just like that?” he asked, his tone finally picking up some of the playful tone Phillip had been using.

Phillip answered truthfully, because it didn’t seem like a good idea to bluff this one. “I’m open to negotiations, if you’ve got ideas all of a sudden.”

It looked like John hadn’t been expecting that answer. That was fair, since Phillip wasn’t particularly known for his abounding sense of humility without ulterior motive. John looked at him silently for a second, then turned back to his pint on the bar. “Damn you,” he muttered as he took another drink.

This was fun. Phillip grinned again, turning his back to the bar and taking up his own drink at last. It was almost gone by now, and he had no desire to stick around to order another one. He found Nik still sitting at his table, watching them both from across the room. He caught Phillip’s grin and smiled.

“He put you up to this?” John asked. When Phillip glanced at him, he added, “Nik, I mean.”

Ah, right. “Nope. Not his idea, just his blessing.” He drank the last of his whiskey and set his glass down on the bar. “Tell you what,” he said, pulling his hotel keycards out of his back pocket (because they always gave you two even when you were clearly one person). He slid one out of the little paper envelope with the room number scrawled on it, and put it back into his pocket. “I will leave you with options,” he said quietly, reaching over to slide the extra keycard with its little envelope into the breast pocket of John’s shirt.

John let him do it, following his every move carefully, but remaining still.

Then he walked away, down the bar to Shelly to pay for his drink before he left. It took great effort not to glance sideways at John still standing at the other end of the bar. He almost broke when he had to look back up at Shelly with a polite smile and wish her a nice evening, but he held his ground. He put his wallet back in his pocket and left the bar.

-scene break-

Just over ten minutes after Phillip had arrived back in his hotel room, he heard the small beep and click of someone using a keycard to open his door. His initial reaction was one of relief, because the past ten minutes or so had been some of the most uncomfortable in his life for many reasons—not least of which was he couldn’t recall a time in recent memory he’d literally been so horny he couldn’t think straight.

No, the comedy of that phrase was not lost on him.

He closed his laptop, pushing his chair away from the desk where he’d been using his emails as a distraction. John closed the door behind him and came forward to stand in the doorway where the main room met the little entryway. He folded his arms and leaned against one wall, crossing one leg over the other as he did. Phillip didn’t try to disguise the fact that he was staring.

“You still open to negotiations?” he asked.

Phillip leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out and setting one stocking foot over the other. “Yep. Get any inspiration on your way up here?”

He supposed in any other situation, the look in John’s eyes would have set him on edge the same way a raid siren might. It was a dark, intelligent, dare he say hungry expression, and all it did now was make a low heat ignite in his gut and his dick twitch in his pants. John pushed off the wall, unfolding his arms as he walked over to Phillip’s chair. He set the keycard down on the desk, then grabbed an arm of the chair to turn it so they were facing each other.

“I’m going to ask you some questions and I would like honest answers to them,” he said, now leaning over him with a hand on each of the chair’s arms. “Think you can manage that, Phillip?”

Phillip’s mouth went unexpectedly dry. He nodded, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Doesn’t sound too difficult, no.”

John gave a small smile, but his eyes still held that focused, almost predatory expression. “Good. Am I allowed to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t kiss him immediately, which might have fried something in the back of Phillip’s brain out of sheer anticipation. Unfair. “Good,” he went on instead. “Downstairs, you’d said I could push you around a bit. Did you mean that literally? Am I allowed to pull you around a bit?”

Fuck, of course he’d remembered that. It took a considerable amount of willpower not to curl in on himself under John’s gaze, but he didn’t. He gave another nod while his tongue caught up with his brain. “Yeah, I meant that literally,” he breathed, feeling like a bug pinned to a board. Only, he’d crawled onto the board himself and stayed put while the pin came down.

John nodded once. “You understand that if I say or do something you don’t like, you will say something, and vice versa, yes?”

Phillip gave him a flat stare. “John, I’ve had sex before. I know how consent works.”

“Fine then,” he said. He grabbed both of Phillip’s wrists, one in each hand, and hauled him bodily upright out of the chair.

Phillip made note of two things. One, the show of strength had been undeniably hot and had flooded his brain with another wave of arousal that quickly drained right to his dick. Two, John was still in his shoes whereas Phillip stood in socks, which made their height difference that much more noticeable. All told, he felt almost… small. Before he could think further into how he felt about that, John’s mouth had found his, and thinking was no longer important.

Admittedly, he’d thought about what it would feel like to kiss John. He’d never kissed anyone with facial hair, after all, because Nik preferred a clean face, and it had obviously never come up in his previous relationships. Turned out, Phillip didn’t really care. Yes, he could feel it tickling his face, and yes, it required a bit of maneuvering sometimes, but he didn’t care. Possibly he didn’t care because he’d been dying to get his hands on this man for weeks; possibly because he was harder than he’d been in recent memory and the prospect of relief was overshadowing a lot of other things at the moment; and possibly because John had just shoved him up onto the desk he’d been sitting at, and keeping his balance took the rest of his brain power.

“Fucking shit,” he hissed, once again aware of how achingly uncomfortable his jeans were becoming. He’d never been pushed around like this—he’d been the one doing any manhandling, usually because the lady had asked very nicely. But fuck, he could understand the appeal.

“Good?” John asked. He’d long since let go of Phillip’s wrists, now gripping his hips instead.

Phillip didn’t bother answering such a stupid question. He hooked his left arm around his neck and grabbed his collar with the right hand, pulling him back in to keep kissing him. John lurched forward with the usual grace of someone caught off guard, inadvertently pressing one of his thighs (his large, muscled, and horrendously attractive thighs) directly into Phillip’s groin.

Phillip moaned into his mouth, his hips involuntarily pressing forward against the pressure. He broke away to breathe, to try to clear his head that felt like it was swimming with want. He barely got a breath in when John’s hands pulled his hips back against his leg, and the rush of pleasure forced half the air from his lungs anyway. He growled, catching a glimpse of the smug smile on John’s face right before he kissed it, perhaps a bit more forcefully than was strictly necessary. Judging by the noise it got from John, though, neither of them cared.

He felt John’s tongue press against the seam of his lips with clear intent at the same time he felt the man’s hands tugging his shirt out of his waistband. He let both happen, groaning softly when John’s warm palms fit snugly around his ribs and his tongue slid into his mouth. Again, it was something Phillip had never understood to be particularly pleasant, let alone attractive, but he was discovering a lot of things made more sense when he was actually attracted to the person in question. John’s leg ground up against him again, drawing a quiet groan from him as he tried desperately to hold onto his composure.

It wasn’t easy. The warmth from John’s hands was making goose bumps erupt in their wake along his sides, across his lower back, and slowly trailing higher. The movement of his leg against the bulge in Phillip’s jeans turned slow and repetitive, pulling small noises from his throat even as he tried to hold them back. He could feel his body heating up as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him, until he realized the situation was heading towards a conclusion far faster than he’d wanted.

He reached up with the arm still looped around John’s neck, weaving fingers into John’s hair and holding him there when he broke away from the kiss. “Will you cut that out,” he said, breathing hard, “and do something more constructive?”

The smug little smile was back on John’s face. He squeezed Phillip’s ribs and leaned in until their foreheads were pressed together. “You were making such pretty noises for me, though,” he murmured.

Phillip turned his head away, blushing deeply. That only gave John the opportunity to duck his head and start covering his jaw and ear and neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses. Without really thinking, Phillip tilted his head back, allowing him more room.

He gave a small gasp when John began sucking a mark below his ear. “Fucking Christ, John,” he whined, dragging his fingernails through the short hairs on the back of John’s head. “Please—shit, John—"

John made a low noise in his throat, detaching from his neck and licking over his handiwork once or twice. “God, if I had the fucking time,” he said into his ear, sliding his hands back down to rest on Phillip’s hips and squeezing, “I would keep you here for hours with just my fingers until you couldn’t remember your own name and just begged me to fuck you properly.”

A shudder ran down Phillip’s spine, making his stomach clench and his hips twitch forward of their own accord. Evidently, he wouldn’t mind that at all. Great. Not currently helpful, however. He closed his eyes as John once again mouthed at the underside of his jaw, struggling to put together a sentence that made sense. “Yeah, okay. But since it sounds—hah, fuck—like you don’t have the time, what—mm—what are we doing now?”

John pulled back to look at him with the same infuriating self-satisfied expression. “Impatient—”

“Yes.”

That made his eyebrows lift slightly. “Fine. Can I suck you off?”

Finally. “Yes, you can absolutely—” Phillip never finished the sentence.

As soon as the first word was out of his mouth, John pulled him off the desk, turned him around, and pushed him onto the foot of the nearest bed. He only managed to stay upright by grabbing onto one of John’s biceps. It didn’t really matter, though, because the second his ass hit the bedspread, John’s mouth found his again, and he felt himself being eased slowly and very deliberately onto his back. John licked into his mouth again, and his hand not currently supporting his weight snaked up and into Phillip’s hair, gently pulling his head back slightly. Fuck, did it feel good, too. If his eyes weren’t already closed, they probably would have crossed.

John pulled away, his hand sliding down along Phillip’s face to his collar, resting on the first button. “Still good?”

Phillip tried to answer, but the words “what” and “yeah” both wanted to come out of his mouth at the same time. It ended up as an unintelligible noise half-way between both words. He blinked, a little confused as to why that hadn’t made sense, and then John burst into poorly restrained but genuine, honest-to-God giggles. Phillip covered his face, a blush searing his ears and cheeks as John buried his face in his chest to laugh.

After a couple seconds, he lifted it to say, “How’re you already fucked dumb when I haven’t even touched you?” He was still smiling fit to burst.

Phillip hit his shoulder. “Oh, shut up!”

“I’m not making fun of you,” John said, leaning down and starting to press kisses across his cheeks and jaw.

Phillip let him, because it felt good. “Yeah, sure.” But it didn’t feel good enough to let it continue indefinitely. He reached up and grabbed John’s chin, forcing eye contact. “Did your mother never teach you not to play with your food?” he asked pointedly. “I thought you asked to suck my dick, and my belt buckle has yet to be undone.” He raised his eyebrows a hair and tilted his head in lieu of asking John if he could see what the problem was.

There were still traces of amusement all over John’s face, but all he did was peck him on the lips before pushing himself up a bit. “Undo your shirt,” he said. He watched as Phillip did so, waiting until he was more than halfway through the buttons before he reached to undo Phillip’s belt, the button and fly following quickly afterwards.

Phillip sighed to himself when at least some of the pressure was taken off his erection, then yelped when John dragged his jeans off with enough force to pull him to the edge of the bed. He pushed himself up on his elbows to ask what the fuck, but the words stopped short of his mouth when John’s hand slid over the tent in his underwear, squeezing him gently. Whatever he’d been about to say melted into a moan as his head lolled back. The sound was loud enough to surprise himself, and he reflexively put a hand to his mouth.

John clicked his tongue, leaning over him again to take his hand from his mouth. His other hand moved slowly, slipping under the waistband of his shorts. “None of that now,” he said in a low voice. “Told you already what pretty sounds you make.” He bent down closer. “I wanna hear ‘em, Phillip. Yes?”

Phillip nodded wordlessly, mostly too preoccupied with the trajectory of John’s other hand to really protest.

“Good man,” John told him. He ran his thumb over his bottom lip before ducking down to press his mouth to Phillip’s neck. He trailed lower, dipping his tongue into the hollow of his throat and then moving to suck another mark just below his collarbone.

Phillip watched him, feeling like someone had lit fire to a trail of gasoline in the wake of John’s mouth on his skin. Beneath the obvious buzz of desire, there was a more subtle feeling building, and it was sort of familiar. John was making him feel wanted, like Nik did any chance he got, it seemed. When John reached his stomach as he kissed his way down his body, he let out a sharp breath at the tingly, giddy feeling that washed over him. John lifted his head to look at him and smiled, which finally made Phillip realize he’d had a small smile stuck on his face for a while now.

He might actually like John. That was interesting.

John finished decorating Phillip’s front with kisses and finally slid Phillip’s underwear off, sinking to his knees as he did, and letting them fall in a pile with his jeans near the bed. The sudden freedom made Phillip groan in the back of his throat. His dick was almost painfully hard, the head a clear shade of red and beading precum already. Phillip watched, still propped up on his elbows, as John made himself comfortable between his legs. The dark, almost hungry expression was back in his eyes, and as much as it made a blush rise to his cheeks and ears to be this exposed to its intensity, he couldn’t find it in himself to look away. John wrapped his right arm under Phillip’s thigh and hoisted his leg over his shoulder, all while still focused on his main goal.

He wrapped his other hand around the base of Phillip’s dick, making him hiss at the contact. John smirked. “Could get used to a view like this if I’m not careful.”

Before Phillip could respond with some remark in return, John flattened his tongue and licked up the shaft from his hand, finally taking the tip into his mouth and running his tongue over the slit.

Phillip’s shirt slipped off one of his shoulders and he didn’t even notice. “Holy shit,” he breathed, his voice sounding higher than it usually did.

He watched John take more of him into his mouth, then slowly pull back, pressing his tongue against the underside of the shaft and squeezing his hand lightly. Phillip’s leg twitched, trying to close on his head, but the arm John had wrapped around it held it in place firmly. He let out a shaky breath, like he’d just remembered to breathe in that moment, which was fairly accurate. He watched, utterly fixated, as John’s movements got longer, taking in more of him, and occasionally felt his dick twitch against the roof of his mouth or against his tongue. God, it felt fucking incredible. John’s mouth was hot and smooth sliding over him, bobbing up and down, steadily picking up a little speed as he swallowed him inch by inch and his hand covered less and less of him.

Phillip’s hips gave an aborted thrust without him meaning to as a rush of arousal shot through him at the sight. John made a noise that sounded more surprised than anything else, and he didn’t take his mouth of Phillip’s dick. Still— “Fuck, sorry—” Phillip started to say, and never finished.

John looked up at him sharply, then gave a harsh suck as he drew back, effectively negating any speaking ability Phillip might have had in the moment.

His head fell back with a loud moan he didn’t have the wherewithal to even try to cover up. “Jesus Christ,” he wheezed, his heart pounding in his ears. “Point taken, holy fuck.” He let his head hang back with his eyes closed as his mind went somewhat dizzy with pleasure.

John didn’t let up, however. If anything, he got more insistent now that he knew how to get a reaction out of him. This wasn’t the first blow job he’d ever had, but it was certainly the best by leaps and bounds. Granted, that made sense, given the whole “Not Figuring Out His Sexuality Until a Month Ago” thing. Phillip’s brain was so overwhelmed, he had little idea of the specifics outside of it being John’s mouth around his dick, and it feeling fucking wonderful. Too wonderful—he could already feel his climax threatening on the edge of his senses. Although… that was sort of the whole point here, wasn’t it?

It felt like his head weighed a hundred pounds trying to pull it back to its usual position, but he finally did focus back on John’s slightly tousled brown hair. He made a low noise just taking in the sight again, struggling to keep coherency in his thoughts as he watched. “Fuck me,” he breathed, his hips once again trying to buck up deeper into John’s beautiful, talented mouth. It drew a groan from John, sending vibrations up the length of Phillip’s dick still in his mouth. One of his hands reached out in a flash, grabbing onto John’s hair. “Holy—God fucking—John!”

John’s eyes flicked up, meeting his gaze as he drew back, his cheeks hollowed as he sucked and his lips shining with spit.

Phillip loosened his hold on his hair, taking a breath shaky with the effort of not coming just yet despite John’s concerted efforts. “’M not gonna last—shit,” he started to say, but was derailed yet again by watching his dick disappear into John’s mouth. He watched, his hand never moving from John’s hair, as John’s nose came to rest in the light brown hairs surrounding the base of his dick.

He felt his dick jump in John’s throat—in his throat, holy fucking shit, first of all. It drew another low groan from him, sending more vibrations through Phillip’s body and pushing him closer and closer towards the edge. Phillip watched John’s blue eyes flutter closed briefly in utter satisfaction, and felt his fingers dig into the soft skin on his inner thigh. It was as beautiful as it was obscenely hot.

“Jesus fucking Christ, John, I’m close,” he managed, his voice tight. “Where—”

John’s eyes snapped to his, and the arm wrapped around his leg tightened its hold. He swallowed.

Phillip’s mouth dropped open silently, and he only barely resisted rolling his hips up into John’s mouth as his orgasm hit him with all the grace of a baseball bat to the head. He came down John’s throat with a punched-out gasp that faded into a low whine, one hand still buried in his hair, the other gripping the bedspread while his vision swam. He felt John swallow around him again, the muscles in his neck squeezing his cock perfectly while he enjoyed the sheer force and magnitude of pleasure currently making his toes curl and his head feel fuzzy in a way he couldn’t remember experiencing previously.

When the high eventually eased, Phillip finally untangled his fingers from John’s hair and didn’t quite collapse onto the bed, but it was a near thing. His limbs sort of felt like jello, and his brain was only a little better than that. He felt John pull off of him, then felt the edge of the bed dip when he used it to stand up. Fuck, he needed to do things. He wasn’t exactly sure which things, given this was a vastly different scenario than previous encounters. But he’d feel like an asshole later if he didn’t at least try.

He sat up in time to see John disappear into the adjoining bathroom, and he was too tired to overthink why. Instead, he reached down to grab his underwear back from the floor, only to stop when he found them on the bed within reach. That was definitely not where he’d seen John drop them. Okay. He put them on, finally just ditching his shirt, figuring he’d be getting into pajamas not too long after this anyway.

John returned, carrying the two plastic cups the hotel had supplied in the room. One was empty, the other was full, and he offered the latter to Phillip. “Drink, if you want.”

“Thanks,” he said, accepting the cup more for something to do than for a need for water. But he took a couple sips before reaching out to put on the desk near the foot of the bed.

John reached a hand out as he was settling back onto the bed, carefully combing calloused fingers through his hair. Phillip had no doubt it was sticking up at odd angles. John seemed to have fixed his hair, which was only slightly disappointing, because he’d wanted to see what he’d done to it. He leaned into the touch. John’s hand left his hair, skimming the side of his face until it was under his chin, tilting his face up towards John.

“Enjoyed that, did you?” he asked.

Phillip hummed. “Funny thing. Sex is a lot more fun when you’re genuinely attracted to someone.” John rolled his eyes, letting his hand drop to his side. Phillip went on. “Speaking of which, you want a hand there?” It was kind of hard to miss, considering he was roughly eye-level with the noticeable bulge at the front of John’s jeans. “Or is that something Nik gets to deal with later?”

John paused and half-sat on the edge of the desk with a small grimace of discomfort, appearing to consider his options. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table, then at the door back out to the rest of the hotel. Finally, he looked back over at Phillip for a few seconds before he shrugged and stood up, putting his empty cup down on the desk. “Fine. Get up.” Phillip stood up. John grabbed his chin carefully and kissed him firmly. “Let’s see if your handling skills are any good, for an American.”

#i write things sometimes #cod smut #pricegraves #nikgraves #nikpricegraves #phillip graves #captain john price #cod nikolai #cod mw22 #cod mwii #modern warfare ii

59 notes · View notes

omniscientoswald · 9 months ago

Text

A trip to Hawai'i P.4

[Babysitting]

Soap, Price and Ghost: *Staring at Oswalds neice(Ohia) and nephew(Nathan) sitting on the couch arguing*

Soap: Alright...I think we can handle an hour and a half till Bonnie and Kyle gets back

Price: Great. Knock yourselves out, Soap *Retreats to his room*

Soap: Welp it's just you and me L.T-

Ghost: *Already closing the door to his room*

Soap: Oh well...nothing a trained SAS soldier cannae handle...

Ohia and Nathan: *Screaming as they start physically fighting each other*

Soap: Oh boy...

An hour and thirty minutes later:

Soap: *Passed out asleep on the couch with doodles all over his face*

Ghost: *Playing dolls with the kids* Sure, we can put horses to bed. Just make sure you wish them goodnight

Ohia: *Whispers to the toy horses, sweetly* Goodnight

Nathan: But uncle Simon! Horses go in the stable, Ohia always makes stuff up!

Ghost: Nathan, let your sister play however she wants with her dolls. She doesn't boss you on the Wii, now does she?

Nathan: *Pouts* Alright...

Oswald and Gaz: *Opens door carrying large grocery bags*

Oswald: We're back!

Gaz: *Placing the bags down and walks towards ghost* There was so much traffic and-

Gaz: *Looks to see Soaps face littered with marker art and stickers as he's snoring on the couch* You guys sure was busy...

Ghost: Sure was *High-fives a laughing Ohia and Nathan*

#call of duty #call of duty oc #cod #cod oc #call of duty headcanons #cod hcs #call of duty incorrect quotes #cod incorrect quotes #john soap mactavish #john price #simon ghost riley #willow oswald pelekai #kyle gaz garrick

47 notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

Text

Rent control works

This Saturday (May 20), I’ll be at the GAITHERSBURG Book Festival with my novel Red Team Blues; then on May 22, I’m keynoting Public Knowledge’s Emerging Tech conference in DC.

On May 23, I’ll be in TORONTO for a book launch that’s part of WEPFest, a benefit for the West End Phoenix, onstage with Dave Bidini (The Rheostatics), Ron Diebert (Citizen Lab) and the whistleblower Dr Nancy Olivieri.

David Roth memorably described the job of neoliberal economists as finding “new ways to say ‘actually, your boss is right.’” Not just your boss: for decades, economists have formed a bulwark against seemingly obvious responses to the most painful parts of our daily lives, from wages to education to health to shelter:

https://popula.com/2023/04/30/yakkin-about-chatgpt-with-david-roth/

How can we solve the student debt crisis? Well, we could cancel student debt and regulate the price of education, either directly or through free state college.

How can we solve America’s heath-debt crisis? We could cancel health debt and create Medicare For All.

How can we solve America’s homelessness crisis? We could build houses and let homeless people live in them.

How can we solve America’s wage-stagnation crisis? We could raise the minimum wage and/or create a federal jobs guarantee.

How can we solve America’s workplace abuse crisis? We could allow workers to unionize.

How can we solve America’s price-gouging greedflation crisis? With price controls and/or windfall taxes.

How can we solve America’s inequality crisis? We could tax billionaires.

How can we solve America’s monopoly crisis? We could break up monopolies.

How can we solve America’s traffic crisis? We could build public transit.

How can we solve America’s carbon crisis? We can regulate carbon emissions.

These answers make sense to everyone except neoliberal economists and people in their thrall. Rather than doing the thing we want, neoliberal economists insist we must unleash “markets” to solve the problems, by “creating incentives.” That may sound like a recipe for a small state, but in practice, “creating incentives” often involves building huge bureaucracies to “keep the incentives aligned” (that is, to prevent private firms from ripping off public agencies).

This is how we get “solutions” that fail catastrophically, like:

Public Service Loan Forgiveness instead of debt cancellation and free college:

https://studentloansherpa.com/likely-ineligible/

The gig economy instead of unions and minimum wages:

https://www.newswise.com/articles/research-reveals-majority-of-gig-economy-workers-are-earning-below-minimum-wage

Interest rate hikes instead of price caps and windfall taxes:

https://www.npr.org/2023/05/03/1173371788/the-fed-raises-interest-rates-again-in-what-could-be-its-final-attack-on-inflati

Tax breaks for billionaire philanthropists instead of taxing billionaires:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/11/10/winners-take-all-modern-philanthropy-means-that-giving-some-away-is-more-important-than-how-you-got-it/

Subsidizing Uber instead of building mass transit:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/cities-turn-uber-instead-buses-trains/

Fraud-riddled carbon trading instead of emissions limits:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/27/voluntary-carbon-market/#trust-me

As infuriating as all of this “actually, your boss is right” nonsense is, the most immediate and continuously frustrating aspect of it is the housing crisis, which has engulfed cities all over the world, to the detriment of nearly everyone.

America led the way on screwing up housing. There were two major New Deal/post-war policies that created broad (but imperfect and racially biased) prosperity in America: housing subsidies and labor unions. Of the two, labor unions were the most broadly inclusive, most available across racial and gender lines, and most engaged with civil rights struggles and other progressive causes.

So America declared war on labor unions and told working people that their only path to intergenerational wealth was to buy a home, wait for it to “appreciate,” and sell it on for a profit. This is a disaster. Without unions to provide countervailing force, every part of American life has worsened, with stagnating wages lagging behind skyrocketing expenses for education, health, retirement, and long-term care. For nearly every homeowner, this means that their “most valuable asset” — the roof over their head — must be liquidated to cover debts. Meanwhile, their kids, burdened with six-figure student debt — will have little or nothing left from the sale of the family home with which to cover a downpayment in a hyperinflated market:

https://gen.medium.com/the-rents-too-damned-high-520f958d5ec5

Meanwhile, rent inflation is screaming ahead of other forms of inflation, burdening working people beyond any ability to pay. Giant Wall Street firms have bought up huge swathes of the country’s housing stock, transforming it into overpriced, undermaintained slums that you can be evicted from at the drop of a hat:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/08/wall-street-landlords/#the-new-slumlords

Transforming housing from a human right to an “asset” was always going to end in a failure to build new housing stock and regulate the rental market. It’s reaching a breaking point. “Superstar cities” like New York and San Francisco have long been priced out of the reach of working people, but now they’re becoming unattainable for double-income, childless, college-educated adults in their prime working years:

https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2023/05/15/upshot/migrations-college-super-cities.html

A city that you can’t live in is a failure. A system that can’t provide decent housing is a failure. The “your boss is right, actually” crowd won: we don’t build public housing, we don’t regulate rents, and it suuuuuuuuuuuuuuucks.

Maybe we could try doing things instead of “aligning incentives?”

Like, how about rent control.

God, you can already hear them squealing! “Price controls artificially distort well-functioning markets, resulting in a mismatch between supply and demand and the creation of the dreaded deadweight loss triangle!”

Rent control “causes widespread shortages, leaving would-be renters high and dry while screwing landlords (the road to hell, so says the orthodox economist, is paved with good intentions).”

That’s been the received wisdom for decades, fed to us by Chicago School economists who are so besotted with their own mathematical models that any mismatch between the models’ predictions and the real world is chalked up to errors in the real world, not the models. It’s pure economism: “If economists wished to study the horse, they wouldn’t go and look at horses. They’d sit in their studies and say to themselves, ‘What would I do if I were a horse?’”

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/27/economism/#what-would-i-do-if-i-were-a-horse

But, as Mark Paul writes for The American Prospect, rent control works:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/housing/2023-05-16-economists-hate-rent-control/

Rent control doesn’t constrain housing supply:

https://dornsife.usc.edu/pere/rent-matters

At least some of the time, rent control expands housing supply:

https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1111/j.1467-9906.2007.00334.x

The real risk of rent control is landlords exploiting badly written laws to kick out tenants and convert their units to condos — that’s not a problem with rent control, it’s a problem with eviction law:

https://web.stanford.edu/~diamondr/DMQ.pdf

Meanwhile, removing rent control doesn’t trigger the predicted increases in housing supply:

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0094119006000635

Rent control might create winners (tenants) and losers (landlords), but it certainly doesn’t make everyone worse off — as the neoliberal doctrine insists it must. Instead, tenants who benefit from rent control have extra money in their pockets to spend on groceries, debt service, vacations, and child-care.

Those happier, more prosperous people, in turn, increase the value of their landlords’ properties, by creating happy, prosperous neighborhoods. Rent control means that when people in a neighborhood increase its value, their landlords can’t kick them out and rent to richer people, capturing all the value the old tenants created.

What is life like under rent control? It’s great. You and your family get to stay put until you’re ready to move on, as do your neighbors. Your kids don’t have to change schools and find new friends. Old people aren’t torn away from communities who care for them:

https://ideas.repec.org/a/uwp/landec/v58y1982i1p109-117.html

In Massachusetts, tenants with rent control pay half the rent that their non-rent-controlled neighbors pay:

https://economics.mit.edu/sites/default/files/publications/housing%20market%202014.pdf

Rent control doesn’t just make tenants better off, it makes society better off. Rather than money flowing from a neighborhood to landlords, rent control allows the people in a community to invest it there: opening and patronizing businesses.

Anything that can’t go on forever will eventually stop. As the housing crisis worsens, states are finally bringing back rent control. New York has strengthened rent control for the first time in 40 years:

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/06/12/nyregion/rent-regulation-laws-new-york.html

California has a new statewide rent control law:

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/09/11/business/economy/california-rent-control.html

They’re battling against anti-rent-control state laws pushed by ALEC, the right-wing architects of model legislation banning action on climate change, broadband access, and abortion:

https://www.nmhc.org/research-insight/analysis-and-guidance/rent-control-laws-by-state/

But rent control has broad, democratic support. Strong majorities of likely voters support rent control:

https://www.bostonglobe.com/2023/03/07/metro/new-statewide-poll-shows-strong-support-rent-control/

And there’s a kind of rent control that has near unanimous support: the 30-year fixed mortgage. For the 67% of Americans who live in owner-occupied homes, the existence of the federally-backed (and thus federally subsidized) fixed mortgage means that your monthly shelter costs are fixed for life. What’s more, these costs go down the longer you pay them, as mortgage borrowers refinance when interest rates dip.

We have a two-tier system: if you own a home, then the longer you stay put, the cheaper your “rent” gets. If you rent a home, the longer you stay put, the more expensive your home gets over time.

America needs a shit-ton more housing — regular housing for working people. Mr Market doesn’t want to build it, no matter how many “incentives” we dangle. Maybe it’s time we just did stuff instead of building elaborate Rube Goldberg machines in the hopes of luring the market’s animal sentiments into doing it for us.

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/16/mortgages-are-rent-control/#housing-is-a-human-right-not-an-asset

[Image ID: A beautifully laid dining room table in a luxury flat. Outside of the windows looms a rotting shanty town with storm-clouds overhead.]

Image: ozz13x (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Shanty_Town_Hong_Kong_China_March_2013.jpg

Matt Brown (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Dining_room_in_Centre_Point_penthouse.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #urbanism #weaponized shelter #housing #the rent's too damned high #rent control #economism #neoliberalism #monetarism #mr market #landlord brain #speculation

118 notes · View notes

sanityshorror · 3 months ago

Note

the julius redraw of my beloved patrick led to julius becoming my other beloved. they're both so.....😍*chef's kiss* 💋could you please write a scenario about these two pretty boy psychos meeting each other for the first time? thank you❤️

Awe thank you so much, I'm glad you love Julius! I put so much work into him and I'm working on soooo many projects about him 👀 As for the scenario, I apologize but I really don't have time and I don't write fanfiction involving my own characters (I created Julius, to be clear; he's my character 😭) BUT I can tell you my silly HCs of if somehow their different universes collided and they met!

Given Patrick's personality and knowing Julius' like the back of my hand, unfortunately I do not see any sort of friendship ever forming between the two. Neither of the men are prone to form a genuine bond with anyone. Now, I can confirm that there are a few exceptions for Julius but it's very, very, very few. As for Patrick, it's up to one's interpretation of if he can/does form a true bond, I personally interpret him to be similar to Julius: no, with extremely rare exceptions.

While I do not see a genuine bond being able to form between the two, I absolutely do see them both as having a mutually beneficial fake-friendship. They're both east coast, coked up, sex addicted, rich white men who lead double/multiple lives and are deceptive as all hell. They both are also very obsessive over image, appearance and social status/perception. Now what I absolutely do believe would happen is Patrick forming an obsessive infatuation but intense jealousy towards Julius due to multiple reasons.

I'll explain:

Julius was born in a working class family during the Victorian era who immigrated to America and became a mainly self made multi-billionaire (being married to the Boss of the Boston Irish Mob brings in a lot of money on top of his own very successful business). Patrick on the other hand, despite being born into wealth still doesn't hold a candle to Julius' riches. Patrick may own a Manhattan penthouse but Julius could buy the entire building if he wanted to, and without batting an eye at the price tag given the multi-millions that roll in weekly for him.

That brings me to another reason: sheer status and power. Julius is so elite that brand names mean nothing to him and he sees brand names as something for the poor. Julius owns a very popular, top of the line, extremely expensive dress shop and boutique. Everything is hand made by him (he doesn't even use sewing machines), one of a kind and the man is talented. His shop is so revered you need an appointment just to get in and people will save up for years and fly across the country, even across the ocean to get a dress. (Of course, only the lucky actually leave the shop....) Basically, Julius' wealth and god like status (he can literally have anything he wants, whenever he wants and gets endless attention) is something Patrick would, though be very jealous of, lead Patrick to suck up to Julius. Our boy Patrick would set his homophobia aside in a second if it meant being seen going into Doherty's Dress Shop without needing an appointment.

Julius would look down on Patrick. He would find him annoying and pathetic. However Julius loves attention and loves people sucking up to him (and loves cocaine-murder buddies) so he probably wouldn't kill Patrick as long as Patrick played his cards right and didn't challenge him. I see Julius using Patrick as a verbal punching bag and forcing him to smuggle drugs and traffic humans and other shit, and probably also just make him do degrading things like "I'll let you enter my store wherever you want if you suck my boot until you jizz in your pants hahahaha nasty bitch" just for shits and giggles. And Patrick probably would because oh that sweet sweet sweet status.

Julius also would make fun of Patrick for being 'short and fat'. Patrick is said to be 6'0 and 190lbs whereas Julius, who is anorexic, stands at 6'5 (in the human leather boots he always wears, he's 6'2 without them) and horrific mere 135lbs (please seek help if you struggle with eating, you deserve it/gen). I think they would both feed into each other's body issues and obsession with perfection.

It would be interesting to see them meet, I must admit that lol.

#patrick bateman #american psycho book #american psycho movie #american psycho #julius doherty #julius the dressmaker #hellcrew #the dressmaker from hell #creepypasta

9 notes · View notes

tomtenadia · 1 year ago

Text

Detours to You - ch 11

Helo all!!!

Your truly is back from Canada and I have a surprise for those who care.

In tinsi chapter we have fussy Rowan and some good old hurt/Comfort... oh yeah... Aerobitch is mentioned too... I promise he will not make an appearance. he just gets mentioned but that's all.

Enjoy!!!

MASTERLIST

Two days later Rowan was on his red truck en route to Hamel HQ to talk to the bastard who was putting hundreds of people lives at risk. On top of his regular duties and paperwork, this one had suddenly become his top priority. He had even liaised with the police and an inspector admitted that they had a case against Hamel and were very keen on taking the man down if they had enough proof. Rowan was dead set on giving them all the bullets they needed to shoot the bastard down.

Aelin and Maya had moved most of all their stuff at his place. He was meant to go back that night for the last load. He had been even more furious when he found out that Hamel had been increasing rent prices on a constant basis. He and Aelin had moved in that block of flats when they had decided to live together. It was a nice place, central and with a decent rent. But now it had basically tripled and he was not having it. He had an house almost paid off thanks to the money his dad left him, and Aelin was not going to pay any more money to that monster.

Hamel group HQ’s building was in the middle of the financial district and looked luxurious and disgusting. He parked his pickup and strolled in the lavish lobby, while anger rose in him. At the reception he introduced himself as the chief of the TFD and requested a visit with Mr Hamel. The receptionist told him that he was a busy man and an appointment should be made before showing up unannounced.

“I am the fire Chief and I don’t care. Your boss is putting lives in danger and I am not leaving this building until I have a meeting with him.”

“You could be the president, you still need an appointment.” She added almost bored.

In that instant security started to close on him “You win for today, but next time, I am showing up with a mandate from the police and the entire incursion team and we will rat him out by force if needed.”

He stormed out and called Nesryn at Police HQ. She was a good friend of his and as soon as he told her who he was gunning for she told him she had his back and all the legal documents ready to storm that shithole.

A smirk appeared on his face and he drove back to work.

It was late, far later than he had planned. Rowan was meant to go to Aelin’s place and pick them up and go home but he had been buried under a mountain of work and lost track of the time. He was about to leave the office when his radio became alive with a call. A three alarm fire. His heart stopped when he heard the address. Fuck fuck and fuck.

Like a desperate man he ran to his pickup, checked that he had all of his gear and with sirens howling he drove to the location.

In that instant his phone went off and accepted it via the button on his steering wheel “Aelin?”

Coughing in the background “Rowan?”

“I am on my way, Are you two safe?”

“Smoke, Rowan, there is so much smoke.”

Why was traffic not moving? Angrily he honked a few times “Listen to me, grab a cloth and wet it and place it on both yours and Maya’s face. Cover mouth and nose and stay low. And Aelin, do not leave the flat until one of us gets in, understood?”

A weak yes came through the call “Is Maya okay?”

“She is so scared.”

“I am almost there, I can see the smoke.” He heard Maya’s voice “Maya, baby I am coming, listen to your mum, be brave a little longer. I am coning.”

The girl cried and Rowan remained on the phone with Aelin until he spotted her building “Ae, I am here. I will see you soon.”

He finally parked and bolted out of the vehicle to grab his gear and join Lorcan who was directing the operation while he arrived.

His eyes lifted to the topmost floor where Aelin lived and relief washed over him when he spotted no fire. It did not mean they were safe though, the smoke was rising quickly and until the building was fully evacuated he would probably not know what normal breathing was again.

“What’s the situation?”

“Fire is on the second floor, we have evacuated the first floor and I have my team, station 7 and 8 on evacuating the level above the fire line,” he explained “The fire alarm did not go off and no sprinklers. The call was raised by a tenant who spotted the fire in his level when he was leaving the house.” Lorcan then looked at his friend terrified face “Brullo, Ress and Ansel are on Aelin’s floor.” And quickly he ran to grab his gear and join his team.

He quickly called for a situation status for each level and anger surged when the second floor’s team reported two victims.

“Sartaq, take your team inside and go on level two with water support, we need to tackle this quickly.”

A call came through the radio “Chief, I smell electrical fire in sector A.”

Rowan held back Sartaq with his hand. He then looked at him and a nod was all the lieutenant needed to switch to CO2 “Nox, Sartaq is coming in with a lot of CO2 extinguishers.”

“Copy that, chief.”

Rowan was busy giving orders to his team when he spotted a head of golden hair and Brullo carrying a little girl with silver hair. His instincts told him to bolt and ran to them, but he had a job to do, so he just followed Brullo taking them to Asterin in the ambulance, the paramedics placing an oxygen mask on both. He lifted his hand and found it shaking. They are fine, he kept telling himself. They are fine.

Ilias, the captain of station 7, emerged with the two bodies of the victims and the paramedics joined him to ascertain that it was really the case. He walked to the man and stared at the two paramedic confirm that both victims had sadly passed because of extensive burns and smoke inhalation.

“This was in flat 4 on the first floor. It stinks of electrical fire, chief.” The anger in the captain’s voice reflected his own “Thank you Ilias, go and assist Lorcan and the other on level two. We need to contain the fire.”

“Yes, chief.”

It took Rowan and the three station a good hour to finally kill the fire. They had luckily evacuated all tenants when the fire jumped to the third floor.

Rowan looked at his men exhausted and walked to them to thank them for the excellent job and to have a little more of information of what happened inside. Then spotted Nesryn in the distance and joined her “Damn this looks like it was hellish.”

Rowan nodded “We haven’t started overhaul yet.”

The police captain nodded “We have intelligence that this could be arson.”

Rowan groaned. Arson was a nightmare to prove because the fire most of times destroyed all evidence “Are you sure?”

The woman nodded “Seems like Hamel decided the building was not profitable anymore. A residential building most of time is a money pit. He prefers his fancy buildings in the financial district where companies pay hefty rents. Apparently he was trying to make a deal to convert this building to another offices complex, but first had to get rid of the tenants.”

“Two people are dead!” He roared.

“I know. If OFI can prove arson, we have charges for murder and insurance fraud and a lot more.”

“This building is not up to code,” he added with fury “Even if it was not arson, that is enough to accuse him of dereliction of duty. His negligence killed two people.”

“Rowan, I know and that is already gross misconduct but arson would give us another serious accusation, enough to jail him forever because we can prove that the deaths are his fault.”

He paced “I have a drawer full of falsified inspections that should jail him for a long time already.”

“Hamel has ways to get his way out of things, but not this time.”

“My daughter and Aelin lived in that building.” Pain bled into his words.

“They will all have justice, I promise.”

Rowan looked around him where hundreds of people crowded the streets, sat on the pavements with desperation and grief in their faces. In the span of a night they had lost everything.

“We need to help these people.”

“I have contacted mayor Darrow and he is already on the case. Those who don’t have alternative accommodation with friends and family will be offered a place in hotels for now and then a more permanent place.”

Lorcan called him “We are starting overhaul. It will give us an initial ideal of the fire dynamics.”

Before joining the teams he ran to Aelin. Maya tried to wiggle free but Asterin kept her still. He hugged his daughter who cried in his arms “You are safe, my love. I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

His arms extended to Aelin. He looked up at her, at her face covered in soot under the oxygen mask. He pulled her closer “You are both safe.”

Then he stood and walked to his car and came back a minute later “This is my bank card, and my house keys, get yourselves a taxi and go home as soon as Asterin clears you both. I need to stay behind.”

He kneeled to Maya “I will be home soon, go with mum, okay?”

She muttered a quiet okay and he kissed her then kissed Aelin on her forehead “I was so damn scared for you both.” The kiss lingered far longer than expected, then he ran away and into the building.

When he finally got home it was deep into the night. Overhaul had lasted much longer than expected but they had managed to find the source in one of the electrical panels in the basement. A water leak in the pipes had caused the fire to spread and reach the first floor where they exploded and let the fire engulf the flat that had been the worst affected. OFI was called on the scene and took photos and samples immediately. Now they had just had to discover if it had been accidental due to the lack of acre of intentionally caused. Either way, Hamel was in a sea of trouble and Rowan was looking forward to the moment when the monster would be behind bars.

By the time he got home he was exhausted and famished.

Quietly he walked into the house and once in the living room he spotted a figure on the sofa. Aelin was sitting there reading a book under a pile of blankets and a small book light “You can put the heating on,” he walked to the panel and switched it on for her and then turned on the lights.

Her face carried the marks of tears. His body moved towards on instinct and sat at her side.

She sobbed loudly and flung herself in his arms. Rowan wrapped Aelin in an embrace and let her cry “It was terrifying… the explosion…”

“Shh… it’s okay. You are safe now.”

Aelin kept crying in his arms “Is Maya asleep?”

“Yes, she is finally down, she was far braver than me.”

“You both were.”

His mouth landed on the crown of her head and left a soft kiss “When I heard the address over the radio is almost died. If—” he pushed his rage down “If I had lost you both I would have been lost man.”

Aelin looked up at him in his beautiful green eyes that still carried fury in them “I am sorry, Rowan. Sorry that I lied, that I kept Maya from you. I—” He did not let her finish speak and his mouth was on hers. It was a soft kiss, full of love. Aelin melted in it, the fire of an ancient love slowly rekindling inside her. How had she lived all this time without him? How did she even thought about dating other men when she knew that no one would measure up to him?

Rowan pulled back and caressed her face “You need to rest.”

Aelin tried to protest but he stopped “We will talk tomorrow. Will make plans when less tired.”

He stood and offered her his hand and together walked upstairs. Aelin gave him a kiss on the cheek before disappearing through her door.

Rowan smiled, his hand touching the point where she had kissed him then walked in Maya’s bedroom.

She was sound asleep, Elf and the shark in her arms.

He had been a firefighter all of his adult life. Had seen many scary situations but nothing will ever compare to the deep unyielding fear he had felt that evening. The idea of loosing them both had the power to destroy him. He had been trying to ignore his resurfacing feelings for Aelin. The woman had been the love of his life and now he was trying to understand how to navigate the strange relationship they were building for Maya. He tried not to dwell too much on the kiss. It was likely the effect of the earlier events and the residual adrenaline.

But staring at Maya sleep, a part of him wished they would become more than roommates.

For Maya.

For the family that they could be.

taglist

@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @whimsicallyreading @elentiyawhitethorn @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn @backtobl4ck @susumaus98 @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @lovely-dove-zee @athena127

#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin fanfic #aelin x rowan #rowanwhitethorn #throne of glass fanfiction #domestic fluff #aelin galathynius #rowaelin kids #hurt/comfort

39 notes · View notes